Tarnished
by Arishaa
Summary: Ronald's mother had desperately wanted a girl... Hermione's parents never wanted children... Harrison ran away from an abusive home at a young age... how will things change?
1. Prologue

**Tarnished**

**by Arishaa**

_Disclaimer: I do not own the concept and characters of Harry Potter. The only thing I do own is my bad spelling and grammar, and my messy desk. If someone wants to take responsibility for the latter, I would be very grateful. Warning: this story is AU; with a few changes to names and ages for some characters. This will not adhere strictly to cannon, if it did, what would be the point in writing it? Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

**Prologue**

The first was born into a large family; one might say too large, and not exactly what you'd describe as normal. He grew up as the sixth child of seven; his five elder siblings all boys and his younger the only girl. His absent-minded father, the only bread-winner in the home, could be excused for missing so much of his children's lives (though they all felt loved by him, he was a rather distant concept for them); his mother might be forgiven for being disappointed in the birth of another son when she so desperately wanted a girl. The eldest son had just started school and barely ever met his young sibling; the second-eldest might have been bitter about caring for the child in place of his parents, had he been that sort, but he wasn't, and could be excused, perhaps, for forgetting the boy when he, too, went away to school and started living his own life. The third couldn't really understand the reasons behind the slight depression his mother suffered after the child's birth, and reacted typically by copying her behaviour in ignoring him. The fourth and fifth sons, twins, grew up almost without realizing he existed; until they discovered an unprotected target for the pranks they had dubbed "funny". The girl-child, born almost a year after and the apple of her mother's eye, wasn't really interested in her next-eldest sibling; after all, the elder three were more interesting, and the twins were more fun. Yes, they all might be excused, and forgiven. But it was cold comfort to Ronald Anius Weasley; who grew up unloved and uncared for.

* * *

The second was born to two very busy, boring, proper people, who were both dentists, and saw the unforeseen pregnancy as a hindrance to be overcome and handled. They hired a nanny and a cook and so their lives went on mostly uninterrupted by the arrival of their new daughter. The nanny was a squib who recognized the signs of a magical baby and was vastly unimpressed that a brat born to two muggles would be a part of a world she had been denied. The child's only solace was that of the exuberant cook, who, while admittedly a very loving man, also liked to partake in a little too much port than was strictly necessary or good for him, and could do little for a small child. She took to studying, in an effort to gain attention from her parents. While gaining the praise of her teachers however, this obtained her none of her parents affections and no friends. Still, she developed an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, and knew that when the time came, she would leave her unloving home as quickly as possible. And so, Hermione Madison Granger grew up neglected and friendless.

* * *

The third was born to two loving parents, and lived an almost idyllic life until he was the age of one and a half years, whereupon his parents were cruelly murdered, and their murderer subsequently defeated when he tried to implement his murdering ways upon the young child. Taken – for his own protection, of course – to his only living blood relative, and watched over by a squib who lived two streets away, the young boy settled into his new life. Of course, no-one could really blame the watcher for being away visiting family at the time the great upheaval in the young boy's life occurred, especially considering she really only resided on Wisteria Walk for a few months out of that particular year, anyway.

It was really not her fault she hadn't noticed when a new family moved into the house, or that she didn't notice for over a year and a half; although it took only the course of one afternoon for her to gain all the information in the matter. Her neighbors were very obliging – they couldn't believe she had missed something so scandalous – but it was important for everyone to know the full story, after all.

How the husband had been reported for child abuse by the school. How the wife had left with her son in shame. How the young nephew had been put into the child protection system, a really nice orphanage not too far away. How, when the husband had been released on bail, he'd gone to the orphanage in a drunken rage and tried to kill the child. How the child had run away from his uncle and the police had been unable to find him. Very sad; tragic really, they whispered in barely restrained glee.

After Arabella Figg had reported the situation, Albus Dumbledore attempted to find the child himself. When he couldn't, he decided to keep it quiet; it would be too dangerous if anyone – specifically, anyone who had supported the Dark Lord – found out that the child was so vulnerable; all he could do was hope the boy came to rest in a safe and loving home. In the meantime, his agents could continue searching for the child. And so, Harrison Chase Potter grew up abused and afraid.

**END Prologue**

* * *

_A/N: Hope you enjoy this "what if?" story; in any case it is my first and constructive criticism is welcomed. I edited this myself, so if there are any blaring mistakes, I apologize. Note: Ron's middle name is pronounced _An-eye-us_. Ok?_


	2. Interlude 1: Harry

_Disclaimer: I do not own the concept and characters of Harry Potter. I'm just taking them out for a spin… A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed or placed this story on favourite/alert lists. Special thanks to Demon, my very first ever reviewer! Hopefully this will be updated regularly; chapter one is nearly finished, this is just a little of the back-story._

* * *

**Interlude**

**_Harry, Age 3_**

* * *

Harry remembered many things. He remembered the rich sound of his fathers' laugh, and the soft musical tone his mother spoke and sang with. He remembered the joyous shouts of his godfather, Padfoot; and the quiet, soothing voice of Uncle Moony. Harry remembered the way his father would toss him into the air and catch him, and the way his mother would hold him in her lap and read to him from books that would play music and light up the words being spoken. He remembered the time Padfoot had filled the house with soap bubbles for Harry to play with when he was babysitting and the scolding Padfoot got for it from Uncle Moony. Harry remembered the time he had read the book back to his mother, word for word, and how happy it made everyone around him.

And Harry remembered the night it all ended.

There had been pain, and fear, and anguish, and mocking laughter and a cold green light and baby Harry remembered it all; even though he didn't understand it. He knew that his parents and his godfather and his uncle had gone away, though he didn't know why. He knew that in their place was a person called _Aunt Petunia_ and _Uncle Vernon_ (although this other Uncle was nothing like Uncle Moony); and he knew from the moment they first looked at him that they didn't like him, even though he was sure he'd done nothing to displease them.

Yes, even though it would be many years before Harry would understand all these events, he certainly remembered them. Harry found it easy to remember things. Other children his age found it difficult to remember that dirty clothes were put in the laundry basket and toys were put away in their places – but not Harry; even though he had very little of the former and none of the latter. Books go on their shelves and food was not to be wasted by playing with it, but eaten, or you wouldn't get any. Very few children Harry's age cared about the first, or ever worried about the second.

Another thing that Harry could do that other children couldn't was observe those around him. He quickly came to know when Uncle Vernon was upset, and knew the best thing to do was leave the area post-haste; and he knew when Aunt Petunia had found out something especially nasty about someone else, and knew that this was the best time to ask for something he needed because he'd be more likely to get it – like the time he needed new shoes.

There was only one thing Harry liked about living with the Dursleys; and it combined these two remarkable talents – remarkable in that someone Harry's age shouldn't have them – and that was the fact that Aunt Petunia had recently decided that it was sophisticated to play the piano, and had taken up lessons on Great-Aunt Catherine's piano (who had died recently, and had left the piano to Harry's mother; although Petunia reasoned this made it hers now).

Harry had been drawn to the sounds coming from the wonderful instrument the first time he'd heard the instructor play it, and had, from then on, attended lessons at the same time as his Aunt. Not that she was aware of it; in fact she would have been livid had she known that he was picking up the theory and practice far better than she was herself. It had become even easier after the time he had run away from his uncle one day and found the other only good thing about living with the Dursleys – the local library was only two blocks away – and found and read a book about musical theory.

After that day Harry often returned to the library to read. Books and music became his sanctuary; both took his mind away from the harsh reality he lived with and gave him a sense of comfort and security in a world that was neither…

* * *

**TBC…**

_A/N: Sorry about the false alarm, it didn't load properly the first time. As I said before, hopefully chapter one will be out soon. It shouldn't take too much longer. Enjoy!_


	3. Chapter One: Air Mail

Tarnished: Chapter One "Air Mail"

_Disclaimer: I do not own the concept and characters of Harry Potter, or Spiderman. If you try to sue me, all you will get is my snoopy collection… please don't take my snoopies! A/N: Umm… question: where did my week go? Sigh… You may have noticed I've put up the rating on my story; this isn't because of anything explicit but there are some disturbing concepts included (at least, I think they should be considered disturbing). If you think it should change (either higher or lower) please let me know. Oh, the flashbacks are in italics between lines. If you wish to miss them you can, but they contain a lot of Harry's backstory. Your choice..._

* * *

**Chapter One**

**Air Mail**

Terenth was becoming rather annoyed. He usually didn't have that much of a hard lot in life; being an owl he was unbothered by human concepts such as _jobs_, and _school_, and _relationships_ (all of which he'd heard them complain about extensively); and as an owl owned by a school he didn't have to worry overmuch about maintaining a territory or hunting to feed. Yes, life as Hogwarts Post Owl was a literally charmed existence, one he was normally quite fond of. Usually the only real challenge any of the Hogwarts Owls faced was tracking down errant students to deliver them their letters when school term was about to begin; but really, they were the best and brightest of the Owl world so it was a challenge usually met with confident, speedy and competent accomplishment. Never before had Terenth, Owl No. 22 of Hogwarts School's regiment of sophisticated Postal Owls, failed so spectacularly.

Terenth had been up and down what he was sure constituted as most of London, in a crazy flight pattern which had taken him almost two weeks (especially as he was constantly returning to Hogwarts with undelivered letters), looking for one – count it, ONE – student, who forevermore would be referred to as "The Brat" (with capitals) by Terenth.

The first letter he'd tried to deliver to The Brat had been in the middle of an abandoned muggle parking lot and, considering the time of day he'd arrived to deliver the letter (just past six in the morning), Terenth found it a most unusual place to find a ten-turning-eleven-year-old wizardling. He had wondered briefly at the location, but the letter had been precise, as usual: "…_Park #68; Turrundown Car Park_…"

When Terenth had arrived, however, the only thing he found was a pile of rather trashed cardboard boxes; no sign of a magical child needing his schooling letter. Terenth had been rather put out; this was the first time in his rather long and extensive career that he'd been too late to deliver a letter, there was no point of address at which to leave said letter, and no way to track the errant recipient. In a huff, he turned himself around and returned to sender.

After Terenth arrived in the Letter Room, he was immediately given another letter to deliver. The name on the envelope was the same, but the address was now different: _"…Bench #11; Serenade Park…_" apparently the only way for the magic of the castle to track the boy had been to wait until he slept; but such odd places! Nevertheless, Terenth was a determined owl, and set off again, this time sure that he'd arrive in time. No such luck. The bench was empty; the park was empty; the street was deserted; the whole block had exactly three humans living in it and none of them was a small boy child. Terenth gave an annoyed hoot and again returned to the castle, rather with the hope that there would be no follow-up letter.

Of course, this would have been too much to ask, wouldn't it? Terenth had, since then, visited most of London, seen every dive and stink-hole there was to see, visited the oddest of places (if he ever caught up to the child, he would have questioned him very closely about the fish market, even if the boy had no chance of understanding him), given the child the much deserved title of "The Brat" (with capitals) and was absolutely FED UP.

_This is the last time_, he thought to himself in a huff. _Absolutely NO MORE! The castle can assign some other hapless bird, I need a rest; I'm exhausted… I'll retire if I have to!_ Terenth had almost arrived at his destination, "_…Under the back stairs; Warehouse 11; Warren St; London…_", and was still grumbling to himself about The Brat when he saw – much to his astonishment – the child he'd been trying to track down for the last two weeks. Terenth blinked; but his vision was impeccable, and he was sure he hadn't yet descended to the level of madness when hallucinations were prevalent. The child was still some flight time away, but Terenth could see him clearly in the pre-dawn light: wild, black hair; scrawny, undernourished body; rather dirty clothes; and seemingly wrapped in a tatty blanket, asleep. _Strange place to sleep_, Terenth knew that humans were rather selective when it came to their sleeping conditions; something to this day he didn't understand.

Still, strange sleeping arrangements or not, this was the boy he'd exhausted himself to find. _Finally!_ Terenth flew toward him in triumph. _Ha! No-one keeps a Hogwarts Owl down! Owl #22 does it again!_

Terenth was still quite some distance away when he heard quite a loud noise; it sounded like a muggle car alarm, although Terenth knew a ward alert when he heard it. The sharp noise interrupted his smooth flight as he jerked in surprise and it also woke The Brat, who looked around in fear. Terenth watched, unable to reach him in time, as the child spotted the human responsible for tripping his alarm and turned to flee. Three other (rather large, stupid-looking, in Terenth's humble opinion) humans blocked his escape, and all four started to close in on The Brat. Terenth felt a surge of anger; a Brat the child may be, but he was a future Hogwarts student, his duty to protect and guide as a Hogwarts Owl, and more importantly, he was _Terenth's_ Brat! He flew in to attack the eyes of one of the men, giving the child a chance to slip past him. Keeping the men busy while remaining uncaught himself; Terenth managed to occupy the large humans while the boy made his escape. Once he was gone, Terenth turned his flight once again, to Hogwarts.

The Brat was in trouble. That's why it had been so hard to find him. Hogwarts needed to send one of the wand-users on _this_ assignment. With renewed energy, Terenth doubled his speed. The sooner, the better, in his opinion, and this time there was nothing humble about it!

* * *

Harrison Chase Potter was about to turn eleven. One might expect such a milestone in a young persons' life to be met with much serious thought; especially if the subject matter regarded such things as model planes, or play station and computer games, or perhaps soccer balls or other sporty pursuits if a young boy was interested in such things.

But young Harry had never had the chance to play sports; and though he'd heard of electronic and computer games these things were so far removed from his life he gave no thought to them. Had he been expecting a gift, he would have preferred his next meal rather than a model plane.

In any case, his fast-approaching birthday was the last thing on Harry's mind at this moment; as he was currently pre-occupied with his current task: running.

Harry had been on the move for the best part of two weeks now; no bolt-hole he had cultivated was safe, and no matter how far he descended into London's dive it wasn't far enough; he'd barley slept and eaten less. It had been a mistake to sleep where he had; he knew it, but it didn't stop him from being exhausted enough to sleep there – anywhere – even though he knew how dangerous it was.

When his ward alarms had gone off he'd woken immediately, sleep forgotten in an instant – a handy skill to have with the life he'd had to live – shoved his blanket into his small backpack and turned to run. Of course, he'd almost run right into a Hunter, who had looked livid (and Harry really couldn't blame him; he'd managed to avoid them for over three years now), and quickly turned to flee in the other direction, only to realize he'd been boxed in.

Nothing new there, he'd been almost caught so many times he'd lost count and in this _exact_ situation seven times before.

Of course, he'd never been saved by an owl before… it had been most strange, he thought, especially as he didn't know anyone who owned an owl other than himself, particularly someone who would be so protective of him that their familiar would take on that role as well. Still, the puzzle would keep; he needed food and sleep desperately. It was time to pull out his last hope; if he was found here, he may as well be caught.

_First,_ he thought, _to rectify the food dilemma_. Harry had, luckily, a few pounds on him which he hadn't yet lost. He'd been so busy moving, keeping one step ahead; he hadn't time or opportunity to stop for anything, even food. He didn't have time to steal anything right now, and that left buying it. He quickly headed into a small corner store, bought some chicken and bread, and was on the move again inside five minutes; stuffing his provisions inside the small backpack that held his thin blanket. Harry knew how to do things quickly and unobtrusively; it was something he'd had to learn very young.

He moved quickly but purposefully along the footpath which was just starting to fill with people on their way to work. He blended in very well, even in his rather dirty clothes. He hadn't had a chance to clean them the last two weeks; it was usually something he made sure to do, because it helped him blend in better.

Finally Harry made it to his destination: the public library. He slipped inside the warm building and made it to the dark corner in the back where he would be able to eat and spend his day without anyone seeing him. There was a small hole he could slip into, made by the ill-fitting shelves to the wall and a study desk. Once crouched inside it, Harry proceeded to make a little nest with his blanket and backpack and started to devour his food. After he'd eaten a good amount, he set his alarm wards as usual and slipped into an exhausted sleep…

* * *

Harry woke, once again, to his proximity wards going crazy. They were set to be tripped by someone looking for him. Harry quickly silenced the alarm, packed his belongings away, and crouched behind the shelving. He was ready to move at a moments notice; he would wait for whoever it was to pass him then slip out behind them. Then whoever it was came into his line of vision, and Harry had to stifle his gasp.

A giant of a man was standing on the other side of the shelves, moving through the library with surprising grace for one of his size. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard; but as he got closer Harry could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles.

He passed Harry's hiding hole – Harry got ready to move – but then paused, almost as though he could smell his prey (which, Harry had to admit with a cringe, was quite possible; and he wished he'd taken the time to wash in the bathroom when he'd had the chance). The enormous shadow turned towards the shelves, Harry held his breath, wondering what was going on and who was this person? He'd never seen him before. Then a giant hand came down from the other side of the desk and lifted him without any effort at all – not really a hard thing to do, conceded Harry, but irritating just the same – and he was set down in front of the stranger.

Harry looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile (:). Kindness radiated from the man, despite his alarming size and choice of dress. He wore an enormous black overcoat – one of the kinds that would have lots of pockets, Harry thought – and odd, old-fashioned-looking clothes underneath it. Some instinct from deep within Harry told him that this man was safe; and more than that, would do anything to protect him. Could this be the mysterious owner of the owl?

"Well, there yeh are, Harry! Haven't seen you since you were a baby. Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but I can see yer mum in there too – she had green eyes just like yours!"

Harry listened to this entire speech, stunned. One thing, however, had stood out like a neon sign to his mind; and he just had to question it…

"You knew my parents?"

* * *

Hagrid looked down at the boy in front of him in relief and joy. When the castle had told the headmaster that a new student was in trouble and needed help, almost all of the professors had volunteered to fetch the child; but when Hagrid had discovered it was Harry, he had demanded to go. He hadn't seen the headmaster that startled in years, he thought with a quick smile; but Albus had been quite agreeable – and also gave him another job to complete at the same time.

_I owe it to her, to look out for her son_… Hagrid thought of Lily fondly. Although Lily had been quite popular in her last few years at Hogwarts, when she had first arrived she had been painfully shy and quiet, and unable to make any friends – other than Hagrid. He himself had been the same, only finding comfort in the creatures that were just as misunderstood as he was. After Dumbledore had given him a job, he had felt it was his duty to look out for the students that had been the same as him, and be their friend. And so he had done so, for over fifty years; been the only friend to countless young, shy, unpopular, scared students that had gone through Hogwarts. Lily had a special place in his heart; she had been so kind, helping others even when they had been cruel to her. He had known that she was destined for great things; had cried like a proud father when she had married the man she loved and been so happy; had been overjoyed in the birth of her son (who had won his heart the moment the child had looked at him); and absolutely devastated when she had died, and her son gone to those… _people_.

Still, that was over; now Harry was right in front of him, ready to enter the world he'd been forced to leave behind, and Hagrid – while sad he'd missed Harry growing up – was quite looking forward to the next seven years. He studied the child carefully.

He was quite small and very skinny; especially for his age. He looked more like he was nine than eleven. The clothes he wore fit rather loosely, as though they had been purchased with room to grow, and seemed a little old and dirty, but not really something out of the ordinary for a muggle boy of Harry's age to wear. Hagrid's first impression, that Harry looked like his father, James, was supported by the wild black hair that grew in uncontrolled curls all over the boy's head, the general shape of his face, and his nose and ears were exactly the same. He didn't seem to need the glasses James did, as he was looking right at Hagrid without anything to obscure the intense green eyes Lily had passed down to him; and as Hagrid examined him, other parts of Lily seemed to jump out at him as well. He saw the beautiful girl in the boy's cheekbones and stubborn chin; and in the strong spirit that seemed to radiate from him. Lily had been like that, Hagrid remembered; with that air of responsibility and kindness – everything about her, and her son, told others around them they were trustworthy. And then Hagrid saw the feature that came from neither James or Lily, but rather their murderer – a very thin scar of his forehead which was shaped like a bolt of lightning – still visible after all this time.

Hagrid felt a moment of anger against the foul creature that had done such wrong to their world, then shook himself out of his thoughts, to answer the question Harry had asked.

"'Course I knew yer mum and dad! Nicer people yeh couldn't find! And I'm Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Key and Grounds at Hogwarts. Speaking of, I'm supposed to deliver this…"

And he held out a letter.

* * *

Harry took the letter from the giant hand, and read the address:

"_Mr. H Potter_

_Reference #798LOR, Non-Fiction Section (1) _

_Public Library_

_Euston (2) Square; London"_

Harry blinked, and looked at the shelves he'd been sleeping behind. The address on the letter matched exactly. _OK, that's more than a little creepy_, he decided. Harry opened the letter. Skipping over the heading at the top, he read:

.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry…_

.

Harry smiled; he hadn't truly believed someone in his circumstances would be accepted to a magical school… a magical school – but if Hagrid worked there, and he knew Harry's parents –

"…but then, if you knew them, my mum and dad must have been wizards…"

"'Course they were, Harry! You didn't think they were muggles, did ya?"

"Well… I… was told they died in a car crash. I just thought that meant – "

"Car crash? Who told you that? Ne'er mind, I can guess. Ruddy Dursleys." Hagrid looked outraged and concerned all at once; quite a feat as far as Harry was concerned. "Well… I don' think I'm the right person to tell yeh this, Harry… but you've got to know…"

And so the story was told. Harry could well believe that some wizards go bad, for as much as some tried to believe themselves superior, wizards were human, and Harry had seen enough of both the good and bad of human nature to know that there was evil inside the best of people, and a little seed of goodness in the worst – even if they were able to resist the temptation to let these parts of themselves show, it was there.

Harry didn't really understand the fear people had of speaking the name "Voldemort", especially considering what it meant; what self-respecting dark lord would want to be known as "Flight of Death", anyway? He supposed the terror of his first reign might be compared to what it had been like when Adolf Hitler was making his bid on world domination; but even so, muggles didn't fear the name "Adolf Hitler" after he died, did they? He supposed he'd have to research the matter.

As the story progressed, Harry realized just how terrified people must have been; even just recounting this story for him, Hagrid seemed scared, and though he didn't really know Hagrid well, it didn't seem to be in his nature.

_Dumbledore_. Harry remembered seeing that name in the heading he'd skipped over in the letter. He was the headmaster at Hogwarts, and, if he remembered correctly, he'd also defeated Grindelwald in 1945 (something that struck Harry as quite a coincidence, as he remembered his previous thoughts about Hitler, and resolved some serious research was warranted), discovered the twelve uses of dragon's blood and done quite a bit of work in the field of alchemy – what was his partners name again? – oh, well, it didn't matter now. _Add the only one Voldemort was ever afraid of to that list_, Harry thought.

And then came the part about his parents – and the part about himself – and he remembered, again, the terrible pain in his forehead, the cold green light and the cruel laughter… _Voldemort_.

Harry thought about everything Hagrid had told him. Having believed his Aunt – even as biased against him and his mother as she had been – when she told him that her sister and her brother-in-law had perished in a car accident, he'd simply assumed they had been un-magical, and himself to be muggleborn. Now he knew the truth – Voldemort had murdered them… and one day, he was going to pay for it.

* * *

After Hagrid had finished talking, they had settled down to sleep; Hagrid on one of the sofas and Harry curled up in a huge armchair. Harry woke with the dawn; finished what was left of his chicken and bread (he'd thought about leaving some for Hagrid, but then realized that Hagrid would be going home later today, and would eat there; so Harry wasn't worried about him going hungry), and had a quick wash in the bathroom. He'd rinsed out his shirt and socks and dried them as best as possible under the hand dryer, too. By the time he'd returned to the sofas, Hagrid was paying an owl some money for a paper; and that reminded Harry of the owl that had saved him – had it only been yesterday?

"Hagrid, yesterday I saw an owl… it helped me out of a tight spot. Is it yours?"

"Nah. School owl. Terenth, his name is; poor beast, been lookin' fer you fer the longest time… very protective of students, our school owls are. Nothin' like them in all the world!" Hagrid was obviously very proud. "Anyway, must be off; got to take ye shoppin' yet!"

And so the two set off; through the streets of London that were only just stirring, talking all the way – about Gringotts and the money that Harry's parents left him; and the fact that Hagrid would love a dragon; and about the Ministry of Magic; and the other Very Important Hogwarts Business Hagrid had to see to (some of the information Harry knew already, but a lot of it was new) – and into a tiny, grubby, run-down looking pub called _The Leaky Cauldron_. Harry knew from experience that this pub couldn't be seen by just anybody; in fact it had several very strong muggle-repelling charms on it. As they passed through the almost empty pub, Harry remembered the first time he'd ever come across this particular establishment…

* * *

**Harry, Age 8 ½**

_Harry had moved out of permanently living with the Presul (3) sisters when an inspector from the board of education had come looking into the 'situation'. He'd left disappointed, because he'd been unable to find anything of any note other than a small guest-room built into the attic. Harry had started roaming the streets again, his small backpack holding his now rather worn blanket, a change of clothes, some emergency money sewn into the lining in a water-tight plastic bag, and now and then some food he managed to buy or steal. He carried his violin in a case with a strap attached that allowed him to carry it over his head and shoulder, hanging by his side. All his other possessions (including clothes and the book he'd inherited from Miss Nancy) he'd packed away into a cardboard box and stowed on top of the wardrobe in his room. The inspector hadn't found it odd at all._

_Harry had managed to cultivate some pretty good hiding places and emergency stashes (including a locked security box with all his bank account information and an emergency fund of nearly three hundred pounds, the key to which was worn around his neck); still turned up at the Presul residence three days a week for his music lessons and to tutor his students; and also spent at least one day a week hanging out with Miss Nancy at the library, who continued to tutor him in secondary school subjects, according to an old guide she'd found on the internet._

_Harry had lived the two years he'd run from the Dursleys in blessed anonymity. No-one was looking for him; no-one cared where he went or what he did (as long as he wasn't stealing from them); no-one cared what he called himself or how he survived (apart from the Presul sisters). While his circumstances weren't the happiest at the moment, Harry certainly appreciated the positive elements he got out of his life – such as being able to live without being beaten to a bloody pulp every other day by a bigot six times bigger than he was. He still had to look after himself, but he'd been doing that for most of his life anyway, and it wasn't such a hard task. Living out on his own also allowed him to perfect his control over his 'power' and hone his instinct._

_Yes, Harry had been, if not happy, at least content with the status quoi the last two years. But now all that had changed. Miss Kelly had been so impressed with his help with her younger students, she'd assigned him some older ones (she talked him into taking a percentage of the payment now that he wasn't living full-time with them). One lady, by name of Mrs. Regina Gold (Harry suspected this was a stage name), whose eleven-year-old daughter Harry was instructing in piano, had heard him play his violin and offered him a position playing with her in an up-market restaurant. She would give him a percentage of the pay she received (which was increased thanks to Harry, so she was very happy) in return._

_One of the patrons who had heard him had been most impressed. Nicholas Stafford was a very rich, very old man who ran an exclusive boarding school that focused on musical studies. When he discovered that Mrs. Gold was not his parent, and (after some invasive investigating) that he was a runaway living primarily on the streets, he decided to force Harry to attend his school. Had he offered to pay Harry's way, Harry might have accepted; but in forcing the issue in the manner he did (by attempting to blackmail Harry using Miss Kelly), he assured that Harry would never co-operate out of pure obstinacy. When the attempt to coerce Harry failed, Mr. Stafford called in the Hunters._

_Harry hated them. An illegal racket that scoured the streets, rounding up kids for sale to the highest bidder, they were (as far as Harry was concerned) the lowest type of scum he'd ever encountered. Some of the kids were sold back to their parents (if they had enough money, and they were lucky enough); but most were simply sold into slavery – as cheap labour, prostitutes, the youngest sold into pedophilia rings – the list went on. If you could pay, they provided, and they didn't care what happened after their merchandise was sold. The other "service" they provided was contract searches – which is what Nicholas Stafford had recently taken out on Harry._

_The Hunters weren't the only group of people who were all-of-a-sudden interested in Harry. The other group was quite different, far more easily evaded, and dressed in the strangest of manners. They had turned up about six months ago, led by the strangest-looking person Harry had ever seen, with a wooden leg that ended in a claw and what looked like a funky, new-age fake eye. Unknown to him, this was the Order of the Phoenix, under the instruction of Albus Dumbledore; though they didn't have nearly as much luck, and they obviously weren't full-time searchers like the Hunters were. Harry was wary of them because most of them seemed like they had escaped from a mental institution – muttering under their breath, looking at the simplest things in wonderment, almost getting themselves run over when they crossed the street – especially one man that had bright, red-flamed hair._

_Harry would soon discover where this group of bumbling do-gooders had come from, for at that moment he was hiding from Hunters, crouched in an alley across from a certain dingy-looking pub. Although he was rather busy looking out for his pursuers, Harry none-the-less noticed the way peoples' eyes seemed to travel across the stores on either side of the pub without pausing to look at the pub itself – almost as though they didn't see it at all; and his instincts were continually guiding him to the pub, as though it was pulling at him somehow. Quite aside from the fact that it seemed a good place for Harry to hide, he was a curious boy by nature, and would have investigated anyway. Darting across the street and into the pub (Harry didn't look it, but he was very fast), he then slipped into a dark corner to do what he did best – observe and remember._

_That day had opened Harry's eyes to the hidden world of magic. He realized the strangely-dressed people were wizards and witches (though why they had been looking for him, he didn't have a clue); and the strange things that always happened around him, that strange power he could manipulate, and that instinct that guided him through the most difficult situations, was due to his own magic. He would have to learn more…_

* * *

Harry shook off his thoughts and started to move. Hagrid was greeted by the barman by name – something Harry found to be most amusing – and quickly declined a drink when he was offered one; stating he had Hogwarts business to take care of. He'd looked around for Harry in that moment, but… he seemed to be missing. Harry had, in fact, automatically moved through the pub to the back door; not wanting anyone to notice him particularly, as he had learned that that was something to be avoided; and standing with someone of Hagrid's size and girth was something that was bound to get him noticed. Hagrid blinked, located Harry, and moved after him. Tom – the name of the barman – noticed the small boy and smiled. "Hogwarts student, Hagrid?"

"O' course, Tom!" Hagrid beamed; and then both noticed a rather peculiar man enter the almost-deserted pub.

"Good morning, Professor!" Tom greeted with enthusiasm. He then went about getting the man a drink.

"Harry, that's Professor Quirrell; he'll be your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher this year," Hagrid explained, motioning to the strangely-dressed wizard. Harry looked at the man with mild disbelief. He was stuttering rather spectacularly to Tom as he paid for his drink. Hagrid sighed. "Never been the same since he took off lookin' fer first-hand experience…"

Harry and Hagrid left the bar behind, and entered Diagon Alley. Harry looked around. It hadn't really changed since the last time he'd seen it; one could spend a year there and still find new things around every corner. They made their way swiftly to Gringotts, and Harry once again read the warning written above the door as he passed through:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn,_

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there (:)_

Harry and Hagrid moved quickly through the bank to a free goblin; Hagrid handing over both Harry's key – _I wonder where that's been all this time?_ Harry thought – and a letter that had the goblin frowning and calling over a goblin to help them; name of Griphook. Harry wondered what other Hogwarts Business Hagrid was on, but was content to simply observe. One hair-raising cart ride later (which Harry rather enjoyed, actually; and Hagrid obviously didn't) and they had arrived at a vault that Harry had never seen before. When Griphook opened it, Harry was stunned. All this was his? He swallowed and quickly filled a bag with coins; and then they were back in the cart and picking up a rather small, grubby package from vault seven hundred and thirteen. After they had finished in the bank, standing on the stairs outside, Hagrid and Harry parted ways; Hagrid to have a quick drink in the Leaky Cauldron and Harry to buy his uniform from _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions_. Before heading there, though, Harry slipped back into the bank and changed a few Galleons into muggle pounds for later.

Satisfied, Harry set off purposefully to the Robe shop and entered. Smiling at the witch who was obviously in charge, he quickly found himself situated on a stool in the back of the shop, a robe over his muggle clothes being fitted to him.

Standing on a stool next to him was another boy, with a pale, pointed face (:), sharp grey eyes, platinum-blond hair and a holier-than-thou air about him; he was also, Harry was rather annoyed to note, about two inches taller than Harry, which aided him in staring down his nose at the smaller boy. He was somewhat familiar to Harry; he was sure he'd seen him somewhere before… but before he could think of where, the boy spoke.

"Going to Hogwarts, too?" he drawled in a voice that he apparently believed made him seem important.

_Well, obviously_, Harry thought; but he pinned a bright smile to his face and nodded, playing the shy little boy.

"I'm going to look at brooms after this; do you play Quidditch at all?"

Harry raised an internal eyebrow. _No, and I'm sure you don't either, unless there's a junior, junior league no-one else knows about…_ Harry shook his head silently.

"Know what house you'll be in yet? I'm sure I'll be in Slytherin; it's by far the best. All my family has been, going back generations," he bragged.

Harry didn't think that would particularly qualify him. He shrugged.

"Don't say much, do you?" the boy appeared to be torn between sneering at him and laughing.

Harry, who had long learned how to control such responses, allowed his cheeks to flush slightly in a blush and looked down.

Amusement won out. The boy snickered, then his eyes widened as he noticed something outside of the window. It was Hagrid, who was holding two ice-creams.

"Would you look at him?"

Harry didn't think Hagrid would impress this boy very much, but he said, quietly, "That's Hagrid. He works at Hogwarts; he's the gamekeeper and grounds man."

The boy blinked at him, then quirked a smile. "So you do speak. I've heard about him. A servant isn't he? Why's he with you? Where are your parents?"

Harry bit his lip, keeping up his chosen façade. "They're dead," he said softly.

"Oh, sorry," he said, though Harry noticed he didn't seem very sorry at all; it was more like an automatic response built into him. Harry found what he said next very interesting as well; it was said almost as though he'd been programmed with a certain reaction. "But they were magical, weren't they? I don't think they should let anyone else in, do you? Our world would be so much better without it being contaminated by the other kind – "

He was interrupted by Madam Malkin telling Harry – loudly and with a pointed glare at the boy – that his robes were finished. Harry walked out of the shop in a very thoughtful mood; this was the first time he'd actually spoken to another magical person his age, and he could only hope that not all of them were so prejudiced.

The rest of Harry's shopping didn't take them too long, considering everything they'd had to get; the last item on the agenda was a wand. Hagrid insisted that the best place was Ollivanders, and so they made their way there. Hagrid dropped Harry off at the wand shop looking a little shifty, claiming he had one quick errand to run; and so Harry entered _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC_ alone.

Buying his wand was an interesting experience in a day full of interesting experiences. Harry found Ollivander himself to be slightly eerie; and was a little worried about the fact he ended up with the brother wand of Voldemort himself… Ollivander had said Harry was destined for this wand, which in turn meant that Voldemort had been destined for his own wand; and that meant that their destinies were most probably tied together in a way Harry didn't really like to consider… and there was that book he'd read in wand lore, about brother wands… yes, Harry would have to be careful…

He was torn from his thoughts by Hagrid, who seemed to appear from no-where right in front of him (and considering his size, that said a lot about the depths of Harry's thought patterns) with a bright smile on his face, a curious-looking ball of black fuzz held gently in one large hand, and a wicker basket in the other.

"Happy Birthday, Harry!" Hagrid said, and handed the fuzz ball to him. Harry took it from him in shock; today was his birthday? He'd never known when it was; the Dursley family had never told him and he'd never found a record of his birth. And Hagrid had gotten him a birthday present… Harry was astonished to feel tears spring to his eyes at the actions of this kind man; he'd never before received a birthday present that he could remember…

Hagrid was looking a little subdued, and hurried to explain, "I was gonna' get yer an owl, but I dunno, this little'un just seemed right…" he trailed off looking rather hopeful. Harry looked at the small, black kitten cradled against his chest in awe; she had piercing green eyes just like his own, and her coat was as black as his own unruly locks. She was beautiful…

"She's perfect, Hagrid. I love her," he whispered. He looked up the large man. "Thank you," he said intently.

Hagrid beamed at him; and quickly told him not to mention it. He sounded close to tears himself.

* * *

Harry had managed to talk Hagrid out of going into the house he claimed as his home, but only just. He'd played being just a bit awkward about Hagrid's size and his "guardians" delicate sensibilities, and Hagrid had understood right away. Harry felt a bit wretched about manipulating the man – someone he'd be proud to call his friend, and Harry didn't meet many of those – but his instincts told Harry it was better that no-one at his new school found out about the truth of his "home" life.

Harry went up to the modest two-story building and (after he was sure Hagrid had left) knocked on the door.

Miss Kelly and Miss Nancy were two nice, older ladies – sisters who'd never married – that Harry had met a few years after leaving the orphanage. One was a librarian who Harry had met after she had watched him reading his way through almost half of the shelves under her watch. It had been a delicate thing, trusting Miss Nancy, but something – that same instinct that had already saved his life a dozen times or more – had told him that she was safe, and trustworthy. And so, one day, she had brought him home to meet her sister, the music-teacher, Miss Kelly. Harry had, at first, refused to stay in their home; and still moved around on a regular basis, because he knew their financial situation was tight at best. He also knew that they would love to have adopted him; had they the means, and Harry the inclination to trust the 'system' (which, it shouldn't need to be said, he did not). Still, when Hagrid had asked Harry where 'home' was, this was the first place he thought of.

The door was opened, and Harry looked up into the kind face of Miss Kelly. Harry couldn't help but remember the first time he'd ever met them…

* * *

**Harry, Age 7**

_Harry had spent his last five weeks practically living in this library; he'd found a small place he could sneak into to sleep at night and was able to wash up in the bathroom when he didn't get a chance to shower properly. As he'd done in the library back in Surrey, he soaked up the knowledge like a sponge; assimilating the books at an alarming rate._

_After the whole Hunter fiasco, Harry had decided to leave the Lost Boys and go it alone. For the first few weeks he was continually thinking about Sky; he wondered where she was and if she was alright. He didn't know her real name; only the nickname given to her by the Lost Boys; neither did she know his. He'd never be able to find her. The only comforting thought he had was that maybe Sky would get home, because someone obviously cared about her enough that they'd paid the Hunters to find her._

_Eventually he shook himself out of his melancholy, there was nothing to be done about the situation now and dissecting it would only lead his mind in pointless circles; it couldn't be done over, it was time to let it go._

_And so, Harry had started thinking about the other most important thing that had happened that night: his apparent ability to manifest and manipulate some form of energy. He wondered how far this power might extend, and started to experiment with it and refine his control of it._

_He was also searching desperately for some kind of explanation of the power inside of him; but there was nothing. Things such as ESP and psychic ability didn't account for the fact he'd been invisible; nor for the loud sound and bright light he'd conjured…_

_Still, he wasn't about to give up. The fountain of knowledge contained within the library's of the world hadn't let him down yet; and he was determined that they wouldn't now. Even if he couldn't find out what it was, he was sure he'd find something that would be aid him in controlling it…__In the meantime, the librarian, Nancy Presul, an elderly unmarried woman who lived with her younger sister, had been watching him – as he read his way through the shelves – in amazement. She rather suspected he was probably sleeping nights in her library, and if that were so, she wondered what had happened to the boy's parents. Any other person might be tempted to call the police or child services; but Nancy and her sister Kelly both knew what it was to grow up on the streets, and she knew that sometimes a child had no other recourse than to flee what authorities called a "stable environment". She resolved to help the urchin as much as possible. First, she would have to gain his trust._

_**Tarnished**_

_So she started smiling at him whenever she went passed him, and encouraging him to ask questions when he didn't know something. Next, she inquired as to his name, and asked if he might help her carry a stack of books from one end of the library to the other. If he wondered why her cart was suddenly non-operational, he didn't voice the question. Eventually, she felt she'd made enough progress to ask him to do odd jobs for her for 'pocket money'. He'd accepted straight away; more, she suspected, for the fact that he was being useful than any monetary gain he might receive. She would often talk to him about her past as he completed chores that she could have done herself, but far less easily with her ageing body. Finally the day came when she invited him home to eat dinner with her and her sister, Kelly._

_He had been uncertain at first, she knew; and was almost afraid she'd pushed too soon, but he answered yes, anyway, and that had been that. He'd been the perfect house guest, sitting politely and helping to carry the dishes to the sink when they were done, and making chit-chat with them as though he'd been doing it for years. After dinner, he asked Kelly about herself, and the boy and her sister started to bond over their shared passion for music._

_When he played for them – such talent in one so young! – she could see the resolve in her sisters eyes. There was no way Kelly was letting this one go! She invited him to spend the next day with her, so they could talk more, and Nancy knew then that little Harry was now a part of their lives. It couldn't have made her happier.__Harry had been unsure, at first, whether it was safe to accept the dinner invitation from his new friend, Miss Nancy – he refused to call her just "Nancy" – but his instinct, which he always trusted, had been urging him to accept, so he did. When he had met Miss Kelly, and he found out she was a music teacher, he'd thought he'd died and gone to heaven. Miss Kelly had allowed him to play on her piano, and though he'd been unsure at first – it had been over a year since he'd last practiced, after all – he soon became confident in his abilities once more._

_**Tarnished**_

_When he'd been invited back the next day, Harry was ecstatic. Then Miss Nancy had offered to put him up for the night – with a look in her eyes that said _I know exactly were you're planning to sleep tonight, so don't think about trying to hoodwink me, mister_ – Harry had again accepted. That night he'd been snuggled up on the couch in pure bliss._

_Not long after that, the small attic room at the top of the sister's two-story home had been cleaned out and fixed into a bedroom for him. Harry soon developed a routine mostly centered around the two ladies. He would go with Miss Nancy to work and read in between helping her with small chores, or he'd stay at the house with Miss Kelly. He had lessons with her everyday, and was improving in leaps and bounds. She'd started teaching him the violin, and he picked that up even easier than the piano – natural talent, Miss Kelly called it. Eventually he started helping her out by tutoring the younger children, saying it was in exchange for his board. She had smiled and hugged him then, because even with both sisters working, money was tight._

_And so Harry made his third family. He was wary, however; because whenever he seemed to settle into a life, events beyond his control usually disrupted it. He could only be vigilant, and hope for the best…_

* * *

Miss Kelly smiled widely at him and pulled him into a warm hug. Harry allowed himself to soak up the feelings of home and comfort she gave him; letting her ground him after his two weeks of running and the fantastical world he'd just come from. She gave the trunk sitting on her porch a funny look, but helped him get it inside, and then pulled him through to the kitchen, where she was obviously cooking dinner. Harry immediately started to help her; he never let them simply give him something, he'd always earned his keep, and she had long learned not to try to dissuade him.

Miss Nancy arrived home just as they were finishing, and she gave a surprised cry at seeing Harry and also pulled him into a hug. Once they were sitting around the dinner table, Miss Kelly questioned her student on the trunk.

Harry debated with himself on what to tell them; on the one hand, he didn't want to lie, and he thought they would believe him; but on the other, he knew the stance the wizarding world had about muggles and didn't really want the sisters anywhere near anything that might hurt them – unfortunately, he knew the wizarding world fell into that category, even more so now that he knew the truth about himself.

Sighing, he explained that apparently his parents had been somewhat rich; and had left him some money and pre-paid for a very exclusive boarding school.

"The people in charge of my inheritance somehow managed to track me down, and my first semester starts this September," he said. "If I went, I'd be away from September to mid-June. It should be safe there, no Hunters, for one thing. The only thing that worries me is they might try to force me to go back to Aunt Petunia," he finished.

Miss Nancy looked extremely skeptical, and Harry knew he'd have to explain more when she pointed out, "Harry, what would really be the point in risking it? You're well ahead of the curriculum in any case, so unless there's another reason…" and she looked at him shrewdly.

Harry had to smile. He could never get away with anything under Miss Nancy's watchful eye; even though she respected his privacy when he didn't want to tell them something, she never let him lie about it.

"There is something else… I was just worried about telling you…" Harry went on to explain about the wizarding world, that he had known about it for some time but had been unsure whether or not they would admit him to one, and that he'd recently found out that his parents were magical.

The kitchen was silent. Both sisters found the fantastical story very hard to believe, but Harry was not the sort of person to lie about something like this. It was too… ridiculous, in the scheme of things. And when Harry demonstrated his power by conjuring a flower for Miss Kelly and a colourful bird for Miss Nancy, they had to admit that it was real.

"Well, I suppose this is something that we can't teach you," Miss Nancy said with regret. She suddenly shook herself, "goodness, listen to me! It's not like we're sending you off to war!"

Harry bit his lip. In _for a penny, in for a pound,_ he thought – ignoring the sudden thought that struck him that that was a rather ridiculous saying – and said, "well, actually…"

The sisters looked at him in alarm. "What, Harry?" Miss Kelly asked.

Harry sighed; how to explain?

"I found out today that my parents were murdered by an evil wizard. He calls himself _Voldemort_," Harry ignored Miss Nancy's raised eyebrow, knowing her reaction would be somewhat the same as his own, "and he decided that everyone that came from a non-magical family had impure blood, and should be, well, exterminated."

"Sounds like Hitler," Miss Nancy mused. She sighed, "I apologize for interrupting; go on, Harry."

"He gathered followers and started to wage a war of terror on the wizarding world. One man was able to stand up to him, and he gathered followers as well to combat them. My parents were among them. Voldemort targeted them personally. They went into hiding, but it obviously didn't work. He murdered them and then he tried to kill me. For some reason the death magic he used didn't work on me, and he was torn from his body and left as only a spirit. It's all been quiet ever since then, apparently, but I have a feeling that he'll be back. And he'll probably want to come after me again, for revenge if nothing else," Harry explained the rest of the story, "though I don't see what he has to be mad about. It was own stupid fault," the reflection was somewhat childish, he knew, but he had had a _long_ day.

Obviously Miss Nancy could tell, but she still had one question: "Are you going?"

Harry looked at them somewhat sadly; he knew that whatever was left of his childhood was only possible because of them, but he was leaving that possibility behind. "Yes. It's my parents' world, where they came from, where they wanted me to grow up, even though it didn't happen. And I have a feeling that Voldemort will come after me whether I join the magical world or not; I'd rather be ready for him," Harry said firmly.

Besides, in everything Hagrid had told him, there had been no mention of Padfoot and Moony. He had no idea what their real names were, but Hagrid would have mentioned, surely, that two others had died the same night? What had happened to them? Were they dead? And if they weren't, where had they gone, and why had they never come for Harry? Why didn't they look after him? Harry needed to find out.

Miss Kelly looked at her sister; then said, "that's that then, I suppose. But I expect lots of letters, alright?"

Harry grinned, "of course. Wouldn't dream of leaving you out of the loop!" and then he yawned spectacularly.

"Alright, enough is enough. We'll talk more about this school in the morning. In the meantime, young man," Miss Nancy looked at him sternly, and pointed to the stairs, "_bed_. Now," she finished.

Obeying the order easily, because he was very tired, Harry gathered all his belongings and headed up to his room.

He quickly carried his trunk and new pet up the stairs; placing the trunk at the end of the second-hand, but comfortable, bed; and the cat carrier on a spare shelf of the bookcase. Harry looked around the small attic room that he'd been gifted with not long after he'd met the two sisters. It held the bed, an old wardrobe, a music stand, and the bookcase. It was all the sisters could give him, but he was thankful for it. They had such big hearts; would give of themselves without any thought of the reward – or cost. Harry felt fiercely protective of them, they had looked out for him for years and Harry was determined that one day, he'd return the favour; make their lives easier.

Harry wasn't naïve in any way, he knew that the magical world would have it's own problems, and would possibly be harder to live in than the muggle world. Still, it would be a good place to disappear to for most of the next seven years. Harry smiled as Hedwig, his snowy white owl, swooped in through the window to land on her perch that sat on his bookcase. He gave her an owl treat and stroked her feathers gently; and knew that he would find some things in the magical world that would make it worth the risk.

As he readied for bed, he thought about everything he'd learned today. Harry had gathered from everything that Hagrid had told him, that he was somewhat famous among his magical brethren. Knowing what kind of things famous people went through in the muggle world, and suspecting it wouldn't be much different in the magical one, this made Harry somewhat uneasy; he had been around enough to know that at the first opportunity to turn on him people would be lining up to do so – it had once been said that what people loved more than a hero was to see a hero fail (4) – and Harry wasn't particularly looking forward to the consequences when he didn't measure up to the image he knew people would already have of him.

Harry picked up his violin from the bookcase – where it was stored in it's case – and walked over the music stand that stood next to the small window. He ran the smooth wood of the violin underneath his fingers, the tactile sensation bringing forth the memory of the first time he'd touched it…

* * *

**Harry, Age 8**

_It had been a year since he'd started living with Miss Nancy and Miss Kelly, and to celebrate, the two sisters decided to have a special dinner, after which Miss Kelly presented Harry with a gift. He was astonished to find, under the wrapping paper, the violin he'd been practicing and busking with. It had been the very first instrument Miss Kelly had ever been given, from her mother, who had died when she was seven. Harry thought about refusing the gift that held such great sentimental value; but as he looked seriously into Miss Kelly's gaze, he understood that she'd given him the violin to welcome him to their family. His eyes stung, and he threw himself into her arms._

_Miss Kelly had hugged him back with tears in her own eyes; it had been the first time Harry had ever instigated physical contact between them. She spoke softly to him, telling him how much she had loved her mother, and that she was sure the woman would think it proper she hand the instrument down to him. It needed a loving hand to play it, something she hardly did anymore, and had survived a lot; considering she had also used it to survive on the streets of London._

_Miss Nancy smiled at the sight; and she was increasingly glad that this small miracle had chosen her library to take shelter in, because she didn't really want to know what their lives would have been like without him in it. It was now her turn to hand the boy a gift._

_Harry was again surprised; two gifts? He looked at Miss Nancy with questions in his eyes, and she smiled at him gently – he loved Miss Nancy's smile. He reverently opened the plain paper the gift was wrapped in to find inside her own precious treasure: an extremely informative book on the language, culture and religion of the Ancient Egyptians. His eyes widened. He also knew the story behind this item: again, the last gift given to Miss Nancy by her mother before she died (Miss Nancy had been nine); it was almost the only thing Miss Nancy had refused to leave behind when the two had escaped the hell-hole their home had become after the death of their mother._

_Harry was again speechless, teary, and initiating a hug – this time with Miss Nancy. She didn't seem to mind – in fact she held him firmly – and also spoke softly to him, that even if it was never legal, he was their son, and a most treasured part of their family, just like their mother was._

_And Harry knew, even though it would probably never be legal (due to the fact that if he was ever found, he'd probably be given back to Petunia Dursley), that he had just been adopted.__Elsewhere in the world, unbeknown to Harry and the Presul sisters, one Arabella Figg had just made a panicked call to the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore; Order of Merlin, First Class; Grand Sorcerer; Chief Warlock; Supreme Mugwump and all-around good-guy._

_**Tarnished**_

_To say that Albus was shocked to hear the news that while Mrs. Figg was living with her daughter-in-law recovering from a rather nasty bout of wizards flue (though not magical at all, Squibs were, apparently, able to catch the dreaded ailment) Harry Potter had run away, was an understatement. For him to hear that Harry had been abused – badly enough that the muggles had pressed charges and forcibly removed Harry from the environment – caused him to feel no-end of guilt. Having felt that he had considered all the dangers that Harry might have had to face, the fact that he had missed the most deadly of all had been rather damaging to his confidence._

_Still, let it never be said that Albus was unable to rally. He recovered enough to issue Mrs. Figg with instructions as to inquire from the muggle end of things about Harry – hopefully the muggle policemen would be able to give them some leads – while he himself called, for the first time in almost seven years, an emergency meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. The child had already been lost and alone, vulnerable, for the last year-and-a-half, at least. Well. He'd been vulnerable a lot longer than that, apparently, and Albus took a moment to curse himself for seeing the big picture too well to enable him to see the details anymore. Albus shook the guilt away. Plenty of time for that later; now, they had to find an eight-year-old boy before any 'reformed' death eaters found out about this…_

* * *

Harry breathed deeply and smiled, then put the instrument into playing position and began to play. The soothing melody of the song filled the room, relaxing him completely. When he was finished, he put the violin back into it's case and fell onto the bed, slipping off into a deep, cleansing sleep.

* * *

Harry spent the month before leaving for Hogwarts planning for the time he would be away and picking up his life again. Miss Nancy insisted that he keep up his _muggle_ education (she obviously found the word amusing, and relished using it), so he spent a lot of time with her in her library. Miss Kelly was adamant that he not neglect his musical studies, and so a far amount of time was taken up with practicing and organizing for him to take some more advanced lessons with him; and also organizing for someone else to tutor his students. He himself contacted his busking group to tell them he was leaving, and while he gave up his daily rounds, he continued to play with them as a group.

After the trouble with Nicholas Stafford, Harry had become a lot more careful of where he played. Luckily, one day when he'd been playing on a busy street corner for money, he'd met Lucy. She was an E-flat Bass player and had formed a group of buskers that not only watched each others backs; they also worked the restaurant and club circuit as a group. They had, apparently, been looking for a violinist for a while to round out their group, and had invited Harry to join. He'd been a little wary at first; and, after explaining (a somewhat edited version) what happened to him the last time he'd tried working in that environment, agreed to join on a temporary basis until he was comfortable and sure it was safe for him.

That had been almost two years ago, and now Harry was a permanent member of the group. He loved playing with them; their practices were lots of fun and the other musicians were all kind people who had made music their whole lives, even though it wasn't such a good living monetary-wise, they were all very happy; and Harry had been contented to be one of them.

He also, in the time he had before school started, made some changes to his muggle and wizarding accounts. He transferred some of his inheritance into the pitiful vault he had set up to allow him to owl order, as it was tied to his muggle account, and hired someone to handle his investments for him while he was away, supervised by a Goblin accountant. A small income from the account was also organized for the sisters.

He bought a cage for Hedwig, so they would blend in, and introduced her to his birthday present – the memory of it still made him smile – she'd been uncertain, at first; obviously offended at the thought of her master replacing her with a new familiar. Harry had watched as the small black kitten had won the owl's heart, and now Hedwig watched out for the small ball of fluff as though she'd hatched the animal herself.

Harry also spent some time at the _Depository of Knowledge_ (the wizarding library); looking up anything and everything he could about Voldemort. He was startled and quite un-amused to find information on himself, as well (most of it inaccurate).

Still, he found out that the followers of Voldemort were called _Death Eaters_ and their descriptions met those of the other group of magic-users that had been following him around. Harry was quite glad his instinct had kept him away from them.

In any case, by the time it came for him to leave, Harry found himself prepared. He was uncertain what he would find once he again belonged to the world of his parents, but he knew he was as ready as he could be to face it.

* * *

The night before the train was due to depart, Harry was packed, he'd checked his school list twice, his own list three times, shut Hedwig (his snowy owl) away in her brand-new cage and Pasht (as he'd named the kitten Hagrid had bought him, after Bastet the Egyptian protector Goddess) in her carry basket… he was as ready as he could be. Now… how to get there?

Harry pondered the problem for a few minutes, looking at all the angles. While a taxi would be most convenient, would the driver allow animals to be transported as well? The bus would pose the same problem with a lot more hassle, and he didn't want to bother the sisters. Well, that left magical means. While it was easy enough to transport himself, Harry had never had so much luggage before, and he'd never transported living passengers. Then there was the arrival point, if it was crowded… perhaps it was best to go right now. He could transport his trunk and hide it somewhere, then… well; maybe he would risk a taxi. He could only ask.

Decision made, Harry walked downstairs to the phone and, leaving some money on the phone stand to pay for the call, dialed in the number of the nearest taxi service. Luckily they did allow animals to be transported; and Harry arranged for a pick up early the next morning. Taking a last look at everything and going over his mental list one last time, Harry nodded to himself in satisfaction, set his wards with a timed alarm to wake him up, and curled up with his blanket to sleep.

* * *

Once again, Harry woke to the sound of his wards going off, only this time it was the gentle chiming of his time alert. Harry quickly and efficiently used the bathroom, dressed and transported his belongings down the back stairs of the sisters' home; leaving them by the front door. After a hurried breakfast, he said goodbye to Miss Nancy and Miss Kelly – both were suspiciously bright-eyed – and left in his arranged taxi.

Once he arrived at King's Cross, he located a trolley, and – with the drivers' assistance – loaded everything onto it. Paying his fare and making his way to platforms nine and ten, Harry paused and looked around. He knew from _Hogwarts, A History_ that the entrance was right here, through the barrier between them. Firming his jaw, he was just about to make an attempt when a family of red-heads came barging through the throng.

There was a plump woman – who was obviously the matriarch of the family – leading the way; she was rather short (especially compared with her children) and wore a rather patched, faded dress which, Harry saw when he looked closely, was on backwards. Firmly attached to her hand was a young girl, who Harry thought might be a little young to be going to Hogwarts, but wasn't entirely sure; he was, of course, the poster-boy for the vertically challenged himself. She had the same flame-red hair as the rest of her family, and seemed to take after her mother in the shape of her face and brown eyes. There were four boys trailing behind her, all with trunks, and what looked to be the eldest and youngest boys each had an owl in a cage. They were all rather tall and thin, with the same hair, and clothes in various states of disrepair.

Harry wasn't close enough to hear what they were saying, but it seemed as though the mother was marching them through the barrier pretty quickly. Harry was rather reassured at this; and as soon as they had all passed through, hurried himself after them.

The platform on the other side was packed with people; there was a sign overhead advertising the _Hogwarts Express_ with the time it departed under it, as well as a sign over the archway behind him that said _Platform Nine and Three Quarters_. Sitting next to the platform, in all it's glory, was a scarlet steam engine, ready and waiting for departure.

Harry quickly made his way over to the train and located an empty compartment at the back end of the train. He put Hedwig and Pasht inside, and then turned to his trunk. Harry looked around himself covertly; no-one was watching him, far more focused on the hustle and bustle of greeting old friends and saying tearful goodbyes to parents (well, most of the mothers were tearful, anyway) and the excitement of going away to a school to learn about magic or leaving home for the first time. Quickly waving his hand over his trunk, Harry floated into the empty compartment he'd found and stowed it away. Hedwig and Pasht were settled in the overhead rack, and Harry closed the door and sat next to the window to watch everything going on outside.

He saw the red-headed family congregating not far away, although they seemed to be missing one…

There came a knock on the door, and it opened a fraction – just enough for a boy to poke his head through.

"Hi. Do you mind if I sit with you?" he asked. It was the missing boy from the family outside.

Harry smiled. "Sure, no problem," he answered.

The boy walked into the compartment, carrying an owl in a cage; but without any other luggage that Harry could see. He was tall, with flaming red hair that was obviously just starting to go dark; thin in the way that spoke of a high metabolism rather than starvation; with big hands and feet that predicted a large, muscular frame when he matured; a long-shaped nose that was covered in freckles; and shadowed blue eyes. He pulled out of his pocket a miniaturized trunk that was about the size of his palm.

"Shrinking charm," the boy explained, "came with it. Good value, I found." He finished as he resized his trunk and settled it next to Harry's; his own owl placed next to Harry's familiars.

"This is Michael-Angelo," the red-head introduced. "And I'm Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley…"

**TBC...**

**

* * *

**

_(:) Description of Hagrid from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone by J.K. Rowling, pages 39 and 40; Gringotts rhyme pages 56 and 57; Draco Malfoy pages 59 and 60. _

_1) __This is how library shelves are labeled in Australia, I don't know if it's the same anywhere else. _

_2) __Euston Square is a real place but I don't know where it is or what it looks like or anything. _

_3)__ According to an on-line translator, this is Latin for "protector". I felt it fitting considering the role I have for these two characters to play… _

_4)__ Direct quote from Spiderman (the movie) by the Green Goblin! _

_Phew! Over eleven thousand, five hundred words – I don't know how I did it! Hope you enjoyed meeting Terenth, I sure enjoyed writing about him! Oh, and to my knowledge the places I wrote about don't actually exist in London (beside the public library, I should hope) but I hope you don't mind. Sorry it took so long to get out, I wanted all of the back-story written so I don't contradict myself in the future (which I already did about three times and had to change), and it will probably happen anyway, but if you see something like that, let me know! Not all the chapters will be as long as this one, sorry; but I wanted to 'set the scene', as it were._


	4. Interlude 2: Ron

_Disclaimer: I do not own the concept and characters of Harry Potter. Sigh… A/N: Here is a little more of the back-story. I will be posting all these as interludes so you can get an idea of the time-line for each of the Trio, but I'll also be using them in the story proper as FLASHBACKS, so some of them may be repeated. Hope you don't mind!_

* * *

**Interlude**

**Ron, Age 3 ½**

* * *

The small red-headed boy watched as his beloved older brother, and his only friend, packed his new second-hand trunk in excitement. The three-year-old didn't quite understand why his brother was leaving; but he did understand, with surprising clarity for a boy his age, that the only refuge he had in his lonely life was going away from him. Ron couldn't help but fear that this new adventure, "school", would steal the kind boy from him forever. He was pulled from his thoughts when the subject of them knelt before him.

"Isn't it great, Ron?" he gushed.

_Not really_, Ron thought, though nothing showed on his face.

"My first year at Hogwarts! Don't worry, little man, I'll be back for Christmas and I'll tell you all about it. You know, in a few years, you'll be all grown up and you'll go to Hogwarts too. You'll love it there, Ron. You'll make lots of friends and learn all about magic – just like me!"

The eleven-year-old stood and took something down off his bookshelf. "See this, Ron? This is how I learned to read. You can have it now," Ron took the book from his brother, sure that this would be the only birthday gift he'd receive this year, and his brother quickly showed him how to work the spells on it. "It's ok if you don't remember, I'm sure Percy will give you a hand with it." Ron was sure he wouldn't, but didn't say anything. "When I get back, you can show me how well you're doing with it."

A yell from downstairs had his brother moving back to his now-packed trunk and hauling it from the room. Ron followed him downstairs silently. The older boy leaned down one last time to give him a goodbye hug. Ron might have cried, had he been any other boy losing someone as good as a parent, but he'd learned it did no good a long time ago. He settled for fixing his sorrowful gaze on his brother, and saying quietly, "love you."

His brother grinned. "I love you, too. See you soon, little man!" And his brother was gone. It was the last time Charlie Weasley ever called him 'little man'.

* * *

**TBC…**

_A/N: Hope you enjoyed Chapter One and this little interlude. I should have chapter two out soon, it's about half written. Enjoy!_


	5. Chapter Two: The Hogwarts Chapter

_Disclaimer: I do not own the concept and characters of Harry Potter. I own a copy of all seven books and five movies. That's about it… A/N: Please see note at the bottom for answers to reviewers' questions! Enjoy._

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**The Hogwarts Chapter**

Ronald Anius Weasley woke up to an explosion. This was not unusual in the Weasley residence; a rather top-heavy home with the auspicious name of "The Burrow" that looked to be held up by magic alone, and considering that Ron belonged to a family of wizards, this was quite a likely supposition. Also not unusual, following the explosion came the voice of his mother, Molly Weasley, shouting up the stairs to his next-eldest brothers Fred and George, the twins, about said explosion and damage to their already rather unstable home. For a moment Ron thought about the likelihood of the house falling down because of something the twins did; and had to conclude that it was, in fact, very likely, and his mother had good reasons for shouting.

All these thoughts were driven from his head by a tapping on his window. Ron threw back the blankets on his bed and hurried over to the window in excitement. He wasn't expecting any mail from his owl, Michael-Angelo; this could only be the letter he'd spent the better part of seven years waiting for.

Ron took the letter from the unfamiliar owl with trembling hands; reading the address:

"_Mr. R Weasley_

_Smallest Bedroom Tucked Away Under The Attic_

_The Burrow_

_Ottery St. Catchpole; Devon"_

…and then turning it over to look at the seal. A stylized "H" surrounded by four animals; a lion, a snake, an eagle and a badger. It was from Hogwarts.

Ron let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and carefully slit the top of the envelope. He pulled out the envelope and read (1):

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL FOR WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**

**Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore**

**(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,**

**Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)**

_Dear Mr Weasley,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…_

As he read, Ron felt the most peculiar feeling; like a hot air balloon was rising from his stomach to his chest leaving behind a bunch of butterflies. He almost felt like crying in relief. Ron smiled. _Finally_.

* * *

Mixed reactions had greeted Ron's news about his Hogwarts letter: his mother had pursed her lips (in what he assumed was annoyance that he had placed himself in her notice); his elder brother, Percy (born between Charlie and the twins) had completely ignored his announcement (unlike his pleased exclamation when the twins received their letters); the twins had grinned maliciously and declared that they would take "good care" of "ickle Ronnikins"; Ginny, his younger sister (and the only girl in the family) had burst into furious tears, complaining that it wasn't fair that she wasn't allowed to go yet; and, when he got home from an all-nighter at his office in the Ministry of Magic, his father had made a tired, yet pleased sound and congratulated him whole-heartedly.

Ron rather thought the reactions were typical, if annoying, and wished there had been a way to by-pass telling his family anything at all, and instead just disappearing. He wondered if any of them would have noticed if he had. They certainly hadn't noticed him vanishing for days at a time in the past…

**Ron, Age 5**

_Ron raced back to the Burrow at full speed. How could he have fallen asleep? What would happen if his mother demanded to know where he'd been? What could he tell her? It had taken months to complete his hideaway, the one place his family's indifference couldn't touch him. He couldn't give it up!_

_Ron was used to studying late into the night; when he became enthralled by a subject he couldn't leave it alone. He usually took care to leave for home at the same time every night, though, a time limit he'd had to impose on himself so he got the right amount of sleep. But last night he couldn't help himself. He'd read straight through his normal deadline without even noticing; kept reading, in fact, until he'd fallen asleep over the large ancient tome. Now he'd missed breakfast and it was getting on towards lunch; and just how was he going to explain?_

_By the time he'd made it back to his home, Ron decided simply to excuse himself by saying he'd been out walking and fallen asleep outside in the apple tree grove. That would be a good excuse. No-one needed to know about his hideaway at all._

_He cautiously approached the back door, mindful of the one time the twins had broken curfew (their mother and father had been lying in wait and the screaming had reached a level of decibels Ron hadn't known existed). Ron carefully eased the door open and looked around. He frowned. No one was there. Perhaps in the living room? He quietly made his way to the family room and looked around in there. He blinked at the scene that met his eyes. His father was not present at all, most likely at work, because his work cloak and briefcase were gone. His mother was calmly knitting in her chair in front of the fire that was alight even though the days were warming up. His sister was stretched out on the couch with what looked like a story book. His brother, Percy, had open Bill's first year charms book and was taking notes with parchment and ink, preparing for his first Hogwarts year that was still a little over two years away, spread out all over the coffee table. For once, his twin brothers were out of their room, and seemed to be playing gobstones. None of them looked overly stressed or worried._

_Ron slipped into the room quietly, but no-one even noticed he was there. Just like, he realized, no-one had even noticed he'd been out all night. No-one had missed him at supper, no-one had missed him at bed-time, no-one had missed him during the night, and no-one had missed him at breakfast. Not one member of his family had realized that Ron had been gone for more than twenty-four hours._

_No-one had missed him._

_Not one of them._

_The revelation was nothing new to Ron, though to see it proven beyond a shadow of a doubt hurt like he'd never hurt before._

_His family truly didn't care about him. At all._

-

**...End Memory...**

-

Ron sighed, and wondered just how long it would have taken them to realize he no longer lived with them. Still… _I suppose its time to introduce Michael-Angelo to the family…_

* * *

Ron was rather apprehensive about approaching his father about his owl; he knew it would be much easier if his family finally knew about Michael-Angelo, but he hadn't very much experience with the unfamiliar individual that was his father.

That was not to say that Ron thought he was a bad person in any way; it was just that Ron didn't have very much experience with the man. He knew that his father brewed potions and had even helped a few times, but mostly his father hadn't wanted him around the volatile ingredients when he was so young. Ron supposed this could mean his father loved him; although it might also be that his father didn't need the inconvenience and expense a hospital trip would cost.

Other than that, Ron knew his father worked very hard to support his family, and didn't have much time with them in consequence; and that he enjoyed shutting himself away in the back shed on Sundays, a habit that drove his mother insane.

Still, he knew that to approach his mother on this matter was akin to virtual suicide, and he didn't feel like expiring just yet… and that left Arthur Weasley.

Ron set his shoulders and walked over to his father's sitting chair with a determined stride.

"Father… for the last three years I've been saving my money and doing odd jobs for people in the village so that when it came time for me to go to Hogwarts, I could purchase my own owl. May I? I promise I will take care of it – " Ron's speech was interrupted by an enthusiastic cry.

"Ron! Of course you can! I must say, I'm quite proud of you, son. I must tell your mother…" the man beamed at his son, clapping him manly on the shoulder, and then quickly went in search of his wife, leaving behind his youngest son, who was standing where he left him, frozen.

Ron was rather shocked. "You… are?" _My father is… proud… of me?_ He wondered at the startling revelation; but soon put it to the back of his mind. Ron knew he would have to consider this puzzling turn of events, but it would wait… for now.

* * *

It was three days later. Three horrible, tense, excruciating days later. Molly Weasley's lips had thinned and she had frowned severely every time she laid eyes on her youngest son – granted that wasn't often, Ron wasn't stupid, after all – at the same time as she praised and boasted about Percy being chosen for Prefect and the mock complaining about the twins' behaviour and the spoiling of her precious daughter. Ron bit his lip and said nothing, veiling his hurt emotions at his mothers' behaviour behind icy blue eyes.

But now the weekend had arrived, and they were going shopping. _He_ was going shopping for Hogwarts. _He was going to Hogwarts!_

Ron looked around Diagon Alley in quiet excitement. His mother had handed him a small bag of money and his list and told him to meet everyone back at the Leaky Cauldron to floo home in two hours. After that she had herded the rest of her large family away, without once looking back. Ron had looked after them with a pang in his heart at the treatment; but then shook it off. He had known for a long time that if he wanted acceptance and love he'd have to get it elsewhere; this was nothing new. He had two hours. That left him little time to do everything he wanted. He'd have to get moving, instead of sitting here pining for something he'd never have. Ron quickly went over the mental list he'd made and nodded, then moved off.

After a quick trip into Gringotts, were he withdrew some of his own money to supplement what his mother had given him and to exchange some for muggle money, his first stop was _Ollivanders_. Thankfully it didn't take much time at all to find his own wand: fourteen inches of Ash containing a single unicorn hair, for five galleons, ten sickles; then he moved off to get his trunk. He picked up a second-hand one that was in quite good condition with three secret compartments and a rather handy shrink-and-grow charm, quite a bargain at just under fifteen galleons. Next he went to _Flourish and Blotts_, the bookstore, to pick up his required reading list. He also picked up a catalogue that he'd look over later. Parchment and ink, potions ingredients, his own cauldron, a set of scales, a telescope, and a set of phials were purchased in short order and everything stored in his new trunk. After a quick stop at Madam Malkin's for all his uniform needs, he slipped out into muggle London and into a department store. After purchasing himself some thick notebooks and good-quality pens, as well as a few new t-shirts and jeans to supplement his shrinking wardrobe (or was he growing?), he made it back to the Inn with time to spare, as well as some change for his mother. All in all, Ron felt he'd accomplished quite a lot.

* * *

The next day Ron woke early as usual, dressed in jeans and t-shirt, grabbed his pre-packed book bag and left the Burrow silently. Munching on an apple he picked from his families land, he hurried towards the small muggle town as he did every weekday. It was fortunate that his family had chosen Sunday to do all their shopping, as that meant he wouldn't miss out on a day and he wouldn't have to go to the trouble of forging a sick note. As Ron neared the town, his steps grew quicker and more excited. When he arrived at his destination he ducked into the bathroom to change into his uniform.

When Ron had joined the local muggle primary school, he'd quickly been added to the "special unit" run by the school for advanced students. They went through an accelerated school program that, once he'd caught up, was no problem for Ron to handle. The unit included several optional summer courses that Ron always took.

As he entered the unit building, he was greeted by Neil Davies, the unit mentor.

"Morning, Ani, how are you today?" Neil Davies was a tall, middle-aged man with tidy ash-blond hair, intelligent blue eyes hidden behind horn-rimmed spectacles, and a kind, open face. He took his job of molding brilliant young minds very seriously.

"Fine thanks, professor," Ron answered. When he'd joined the school, he'd used his middle name, Anius (2) and Westley as his last name. It had quickly been shortened by his teacher and classmates. Ron found he didn't mind, it was the first time since his brother left for Hogwarts that someone had given him an affectionate nick-name (somehow he doubted the twins' "Ronnikins" counted) and he'd quietly enjoyed the immediate acceptance he'd been welcomed with. He'd been surprised at first; but had come to the conclusion that there was nothing wrong with him; there was nothing about Ron himself that stopped people from liking him. Once he'd accepted that, and after he'd seen how his classmates were accepted at home, he'd had to conclude that there was something wrong in his family for them to treat him the way they did.

Ron made his way to his own desk and put his book bag down beside it. He was early, as usual, but it didn't bother him at all. He simply withdrew his course books and settled in to read until class began…

* * *

Summer classes only took the morning hours, so once the lesson was over and homework assigned Ron changed back into his casual clothes and made his way to the town centre, where he bought some lunch and then buried himself in the local library to do his homework and finish off his summer project on the computers there.

The accelerated primary unit was designed to allow its students to jump straight into a secondary accelerated program or skip the first two years at a school without a program. The summer classes, being optional, were usually an extra credit class that wasn't offered in an accelerated secondary education – like ancient history or languages. At the moment, Ron was taking an advanced math course that covered the entire curriculum in the subject for all of his secondary school education. If he ever made it to muggle secondary school, he wouldn't have much to do, as he'd completed most of the required courses over the years.

Once he'd finished all his homework, Ron packed up his book bag and headed off to the _Ottery St. Catchpole House of Art_. The art gallery was owned by Sara Richards, and Ron had been attending her "creative hands" classes for years. From the moment he'd walked into the gallery as a seven-year-old, he'd been hooked. He'd tried his hand at many different mediums, and though he was quite talented in all of them – extremely so, though he never seemed to believe it – he'd found his passion in sculpting. Clay, wood, glass, metal – the substance didn't matter; he had the unique ability to _see_ something in raw, untouched material and draw it out.

When he'd first started his technique had been unrefined, but being tutored by Sara herself had soon changed that, and one rich, eccentric art collector had soon meant that Anius Westley's work was in great demand. Ron had been thrilled when he found someone wanted to buy his work, and flabbergasted by the amount he'd been paid. Soon he'd been earning a high, if somewhat unsteady, income; which had allowed him to open his own Gringotts vault and purchase various things like new magical and muggle books and Michael-Angelo, his familiar, a regal-looking barn owl; which allowed him to keep in contact with his account manager and goblin investor. It also paid for his tuition in the local muggle school (which he'd been eager to join), and allowed him to buy a modest wardrobe – he wasn't interested enough in clothes to go overboard – but for the first time in his life, Ron had been wearing _new_ clothes, that _fit_, were bought _just for him_, and catered to _his_ tastes.

Ron greeted Sara, the owner of the gallery and a much-in-demand artist (she painted landscapes and personal portraits), and Rene, a twenty-something-year-old "modern" artist who was, quite proudly, "punk". She reminded him of Bill a little – at lest after he'd grown out his hair and gotten the earring.

Ron settled into a work station and pulled out the rather thick branch he'd brought with him last time he'd been there. He placed it on the bench in front of him and settled in to study it. Eyes drifting over the wood, fingers touching the rough surface, the tactile sensations giving him a clearer picture of what he had to work with; Ron delved into an almost meditative state. Soon an image seemed to _seep_ out of the wood, and once it was fixed in his mind, Ron began to work…

* * *

It was finally time. Tomorrow Ron would begin a new chapter in his life – the Hogwarts chapter. He'd finished his advance math course with honours, the branch had been transformed into one of his best works yet – a sculpture of his familiar, Michael-Angelo – and the bidding was still going strong for it. Ron had authorized Sara to complete the sale and he'd packed quite a few different raw materials to work with, as well as all his tools, into one of the secret compartments of his trunk. He'd continue working while at Hogwarts, and send the completed pieces to Sara via Michael-Angelo. He'd informed Mr. Davies that his parents had chosen a boarding school for him to attend and asked that his school records be forwarded to a London post-office box; they would then be forwarded to him, as it was a branch maintained by Gringotts for muggle-wizarding communications. Ron had explained that _Hogwarts School for the Gifted_ was a prestigious traditionalist school that his parents had both attended, and asked if there was any way for him to continue his more modern subjects. Mr. Davies had gladly put him in touch with a correspondence school that catered to that very type of student; and arranged for a copy of his transcripts to be sent there also. Ron charmed his hide-away with preservation spells and set the wards to their maximum setting for the duration of his time away.

His life in Ottery St. Catchpole had been put on hold.

Ron carefully packed all his books, parchment, ink, and other school supplies into the main compartment of his trunk. His potions ingredients were stored in a handy storage rack he'd created to attach to the inside of the trunk's lid. After that he packed all of his clothes in an old second-hand chest and shrunk it to fit inside his trunk. It sat solidly at the bottom, and he moved his books and other materials to secure it. He then opened one of the secret compartments in his trunk and put in all of his other books, notes and projects he'd collected over the years. One compartment remained empty and the other was filled with his art supplies. Ron was satisfied.

His new life was ready and waiting for him.

* * *

The next morning had come; full of the usual bustle and hustle the Burrow was probably famous for ever September the first. Ron had used the shrinking charm on his trunk to shrink it down and slip it into his pocket. He snagged a piece of toast from the breakfast table and spent the rest of the morning trying to convince an offended Michael-Angelo to ride in his new cage for the trip. Once that was accomplished, Ron slipped quietly into the back seat of his fathers Ford Angelina.

Ron suspected his father was tampering with it in the shed on Sundays, but the only solid proof he had of this theory was the fact that all four Weasley boys could fit comfortably in the back seat – none of his brothers realized this was in any way strange, but Ron knew that it should have been impossible; therefore, magic had to be involved – and the fact the car was slowly developing a personality. Ron supposed he should be grateful the car seemed to like him. He knew his father was still experimenting with the vehicle, and wondered what else he had planned.

Some time later everyone else piled in and they were off. Of course, it wouldn't be the trip to Hogwarts without someone forgetting something; and they stopped before leaving the driveway for Fred to run back to the Burrow and returned ten minutes later for George and Percy to grab something. Thankfully the traffic wasn't too bad, and they made it to the station with plenty of time to spare. The Weasley Patriarch helped them pull trunks out of the back, said goodbye to all of his children, kissed his wife, and was soon off to work.

In the commotion, Ron was able to find a trolley, un-shrink his trunk, and load it and Michael-Angelo on without anyone noticing, for which he was grateful. Soon Mrs. Weasley was directing them expertly through the stations crowds, as she had every year her children went off to Hogwarts. Ron had found it incredibly amusing when his mother had appeared that morning, dressed as a muggle, with a muggle dress – firmly on backwards. He still hadn't said anything, and he wasn't going to; Ron's family had little to smile about in his short life and he wasn't going to spoil it.

They made it to platforms nine and ten and through the barrier with little fuss; and Ron once again took in the magical sight of the Hogwarts express. He hadn't seen it since he'd turned seven and started muggle school, but it was still exactly as he remembered.

Ron smiled; then shrunk his trunk, picked up Michael-Angelo, slipped away from his family, and climbed on board. He made his way through the hustle and bustle to the back of the train, where there was a compartment that held a single student that, Ron thought, had to be a first year. He was small and slight, with black hair that curled all over his head, which was turned to watch out the window.

Ron screwed up his courage, and knocked on the door. He opened the door wide enough to look through, and then spoke to the other boy.

"Hi. Do you mind if I sit with you?" he asked.

The other boy smiled and answered, "sure, no problem," his voice was quite, yet compelling in some way.

Ron smiled back and opened the door fully, walking into the compartment with Michael-Angelo in one hand, and pulling out his miniaturized trunk with the other.

"Shrinking charm," he explained, "came with it. Good value, I found." Ron almost flushed when he realized he was babbling, but was able to stop himself. For some reason, he wanted to be friends with this boy… he quickly cancelled the shrinking function, resizing his trunk and settled it next to the boy's; he put Michael-Angelo up with the other two pet carriers.

"This is Michael-Angelo; and I'm Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley," Ron introduced himself and his familiar to the other boy.

"Hi. I'm Harry Potter," he said hesitantly.

Ron blinked. Well… that was unexpected. Ron's head dropped to the side like a curious puppy as he examined the other boy. He was short, and skinny; but more than that, Ron sensed a likeness between them. He knew then he'd met his first ever friend.

Ron smiled. "It's good to meet you," he said firmly, putting his hand out for Harry to shake.

Harry looked at the taller, gangly red-haired youth, obviously impressed. He smiled shyly and took Ron's hand.

"Likewise," he said as he shook the hand in front of him.

Just as they were settling in for the ride, their compartment door opened. Standing in the door, holding her trunk and looking rather awkward was a girl. She had out-of-control, bushy brown hair; kind – if a bit aloof – chocolate coloured eyes; a small, straight nose; and full lips; she wore high-classed muggle clothes and had the kind of body that would fill out nicely as she grew. She looked at the two boys and smiled tentatively. She had a nice smile, and they could now see she had larger-than-normal front teeth.

"Hi. I'm Hermione Granger. Do you mind if I join you?"

* * *

**TBC...**

_(1) Letter copied from Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone page 42._

_(2) Pronounced "An – eye – us". Some people's middles names I simply didn't know; some I wanted to change._

_And so we meet Ron. Next chapter will be all about Hermione. Basically this story is to explore the "what-if?" factor; what would have happened if the Trio had a more cynical, mature psyche? Hopefully my story will meet all your expectations, and no, they won't be too evil. I'm hoping to keep them rather balanced, but still very wary of trusting anyone that hasn't proven themselves to them. We will meet Sky later in the story, but not for a while, and there will be a flashback with her in it as well. Also, do not fear! I have plans for Scabbers the Rat; it's all worked out._

_I'm also sorry for the late update of this chapter. I've been extremely busy with my other responsibilities; and I got sick about a week ago on top of that, all of which seemed to block the flow with which I write. Thankfully that problem is now solved, and I hope to keep regular updates._


	6. Interlude 3: Hermione

_Disclaimer: I do not own the concept and characters of Harry Potter; although if there was a free give-away of such rights I might line up for it… maybe… A/N: And here is the first of Hermione's story. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

**Interlude**

**Hermione, Age 3 ¾**

The girl-child was small, and quite clever for her age; able to burrow herself into a convenient nook in a way no-one would be able to see her – especially her nurse with her acid tongue. Hermione didn't know what she'd done wrong; but there had to be something. The change from sweet and gentle caregiver to insulting, harsh taskmaster had been far too abrupt. At almost four, she was now an expert at avoidance, much like her parents. Had they been the type of people to shout and scream, Hermione might have found herself protesting her treatment at the hands of the woman hired to care for her – since her parents couldn't be bothered – but they weren't, and so neither was she.

Hermione sighed, and opened the book in her lap. Her parents library didn't have any children's books, and her nurse had gotten rid of hers, stating harshly that there was no way she was going to waste time reading them to her (never mind that she could read them herself) and that Hermione was too old for them anyway. She wasn't allowed to watch the television her parents had placed in her play-room (so she didn't need theirs) or play her music because it was childish and nurse couldn't stand it; the only sounds to come from the expensive system and fill her wing of the large house was classical. Hermione didn't mind so much, although she had cried about her favourite book being thrown away – something she learned quickly not to do in nurses' presence again; the tongue lashing she'd received was worse than a sharp slap across the face.

So one day, with nothing else to do – other than be caught playing with the ornate doll house in her play-room by nurse, who would pitch a fit about something so expensive and antique being played with by a careless child and _couldn't she grow up already?_ – she had snuck into her parents library to find something to entertain her sharp mind. It had been rather difficult, because Hermione wasn't supposed to leave the wing of the house she lived in without her nurse; and that hadn't occurred in a long time (other than to walk sedately in the private courtyard attached to her side of the house, under the watchful eye of nurse, who claimed she needed the exercise and should be lady-like about it); but she had loved the challenge it presented. She knew where the books lived, and for someone with the kind of mind she had, it hadn't been difficult to devise her escape.

Hermione could now access the library whenever she wanted, and her mind was fed by medical journals, health guides, classical readings, poetry and a myriad of other things no-one her age should find the least bit interesting. Still, at least she could say she knew _why_ it was that she was forced to eat her vegetables.

Her gaze dropped to the book in her lap _the collected works of Charles Dickens_. Soon she was immersed in a world without neglectful, emotionally distant parents or callous supervisor; where problems were far bigger than her own, but where happily-ever-afters were guaranteed.

* * *

**TBC...**

_A/N: So very much with the apologies, I have very little excuse, other that Christmas… which the work for seems to get longer and longer every year… anyway, hope you all had a good one and a great New Year!_


	7. Chapter Three: Expect The Unexpected

_Disclaimer: I do not own the concept and characters of Harry Potter. I can now truly understand some of the ridiculous things people say in disclaimers… A/N: To all my readers: my sincere, heartfelt apologies for the extreme break between the last chapter and this. Thank you to all who continued to look out for this story and enjoy it._

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**Expect The Unexpected**

The large Elizabethan manor house set on the outskirts of Oxford had an air of peace and tranquility about it. It was the kind of place where what you don't expect is exactly what happens. One could imagine that inside a happy family dwelled; a mother, though busy, putting aside her appointments to sooth a scraped knee; a father taking a day off to play outside with his child; a small boy or girl living in love and contentment. But such was not the case in this home; in fact, just the opposite. Here the mother cared far more for her social standing among her friends than she did about the child she bore into the world; and the father was far more likely to take a day off for a round of golf with his co-workers than any child he had a hand in creating. And though there was a small girl-child living there, she lived in neither love or contentment. Indeed, to look at the beautiful home one would never suspect the occupants of being anything but kind and gentle, especially to their own child. However, as most would know, appearances are never the most conclusive evidence. Buried deep in her private wing of the large home was the only child of Andrew and Margaret Granger; she was, as always, alone.

So the unexpected was to be found in the large, coldly beautiful house – and in this case, the unexpected was an owl. Not that it was impossible for an owl to be there; but it _was_ the middle of the day, the time when all sensible owls were perched somewhere quiet for a nap. The only person in this very clean-cut, proper place who was expecting an owl to land in her room (at any time, let alone in the middle of the day), was the eleven-year-old girl residing in the eastern wing. She had been expecting this particular owl ever since her birthday some three months before. One might ask what kind of normal person would be expecting an owl to land in their room; but Hermione Madison Granger was not, despite appearances, a normal girl. Hermione was a witch. She had been waiting for this day ever since she was eight years old, and discovered the truth.

Hermione looked up as the owl swept into her bedroom, and after a moment realized what it was doing there. She put down her book and sprung up from her bed in excitement, and headed towards the creature. Very gently, she removed the letter the owl had been carrying and then looked at the addressee.

"_Miss H. Granger_

_The Lilac Room, Eastern Wing_

_Wrenglade Hall_

_Oxford; Oxfordshire"_

Eyes sparkling in a manner that anyone who knew her would know was unusual, she quickly opened the letter and started reading. Nothing unexpected, but still exciting! Because she was born to two un-magical people, or _muggles_, she would be escorted around Diagon Alley, the wizarding business district in London, by a professor of the school. Hermione smiled, and sighed in happiness. Her plans could now move forward.

* * *

The girl's first step was to write back to the school, immediately accepting the position offered to her. Once the owl was out of sight, she sought out her parents. She first came across her father.

"Excuse me, sir," she started, frigidly formal as usual.

"Yes, Hermione?" Andrew Granger answered his only child absently. "What is it?"

"I've been offered a place at a very prestigious school. I've decided to accept. It's a boarding school, so I'll leave on the first of September and return sometime in June. It's a wonderful opportunity for me, advanced courses – "

The man interrupted her, not overly interested. "Yes, yes, sounds fine. I'll add another five hundred pounds per quarter for your allowance. I'm sure that should cover everything. I'll leave the arrangements up to you; have the school take the money directly from your own accounts. Send word if anything else crops up. Was that all?"

Hermione swallowed the disappointment she had prepared herself to feel, just as she always did; though somehow, it was always just as sharp. "Yes, sir. That's all. I shall inform mother myself…" she trailed off as her father nodded absently and turned his attention back to his work. Hermione walked quietly from the room. She paused at the door, looking back at the man behind the desk. "Goodbye father," she whispered, suddenly sure she'd not see him again for a very long time.

* * *

Hermione next found her mother. She knew, beyond setting up the automatic transfer to her accounts – because money was something her father never forgot about – her parent would forget the entire conversation they'd just had. If you could call it a conversation. In any case, informing her mother would be left up to her. When she located the vivacious woman, and informed her of her imminent departure from the house – she wasn't really in her parent's lives, after all – the woman looked pleased. "I'm so happy for you, darling. Of course, I knew you'd get in somewhere brilliant. So glad you got all the brains your father and I had to give you…" she absently took out her personal cheque book. "Here, darling. Get yourself something nice from me. A new dress or something. Congratulations," the woman handed her a cheque for three hundred pounds, patted her hand, and swept away, already dialing her hair dresser to discuss her next hair appointment for the party she was planning.

* * *

Hermione was waiting in the entrance hall of her mother and father's grand home. She sat, perfectly still, dressed in a burnished gold dress that brought out the highlights in her hair and eyes. At her feet was a satchel-type bag with everything she was sure she'd need to complete the day's activities she had planned. At precisely 8:15am the door bell rang. Hermione picked up her satchel, draped it over her shoulder and casually opened the door. On the other side was a rather stern looking woman, her long black hair pulled back into a severe bun, dark eyes hidden behind square spectacles, and wearing a long dark green tartan plaid skirt with an old-fashioned formal white blouse under a matching jacket. Her feet were encased in sensible-looking, black, low-heeled boots. The woman smiled tightly at her; an expression that – sincere as it was – was obviously rarely used. Hermione gave a polite nod back. "Professor McGonagall? I'm Hermione Granger. My parents were unable to meet you, I'm afraid. Shall we be going?"

The teacher looked momentarily confused; most parents were travelling with them. However she covered her uncertainty and asked the girl to join the group congregating on the porch. They still had three families to pick up. "Please hold onto the rope, dear," the professor spoke with a faint Scottish accent, "this will take us to where we're going next."

Hermione did so, and, with a rather uncomfortable pulling sensation at her middle, the group disappeared…

* * *

When they had picked up the last families on the list, they were dropped at an abandoned alley in London. The teacher then guided them to a place called the _Leaky Cauldron_. None of the parents could see it, it seemed, and Hermione decided there must be muggle repelling charms on the whole establishment. She remembered well the first time she had seen the pub, following her nurse at eight, desperate for an answer to the mystery the woman represented…

**Hermione, Age 8**

_Imelda Reynolds nee Filch was furious. It wasn't as if she liked the little fungus of course; but heaven knew it was far better here than her brothers position as caretaker in that ruddy school, and it had paid well with little personal expense. Of course the brat had to be even _more_ special, and be so smart she needed personal instruction, which – _ofcourse_ – necessitated that she lose her position as caregiver of the little menace. A few years ago, she'd felt guilty for the way she'd treated what was, in essence, an innocent child for something that was hardly her fault; it wasn't as though the child was maliciously magical just to rub it in her face that she wasn't. But such feelings only lasted until the next time she traversed to Diagon Alley – she couldn't stay away – and then the feelings turned back to resentment – that _she_ would be a part of this, that _she_ would one day walk here without stigma, that _she_ could make her feel bad for her – to her mind – justifiable feelings…_

_The woman stormed towards what had been her personal rooms, thoughts furiously churning and heaven help that child if she saw before she left, because right now she was in the mood to do some serious damage. As she packed away eight years of her life – didn't these muggles care how much she'd given up to stay here? She conveniently forgot that she'd been paid handsomely for her services – Imelda reflected on the child who'd been the centre of her life for that time. She could remember the moment she'd realized the baby was magical, and the feelings of inadequacy and jealousy she'd had. She had tried, at first, to suppress those feelings; knowing it was hardly the fault of the child but unable to stop feeling that way. She remembered taking off every single birthday, knowing that the girl would be condemned to spend the day alone, as it was unlikely her parents would be bothered to be concerned about the child they'd brought into the world; and always – _always_, like rubbing salt into an open wound – going to Diagon Alley on those days and seeing everything that she could see but not touch. She remembered when the child had gone to school and kept coming home increasingly depressed, but hadn't been able to move herself to care whenever the child was in her presence. She remembered feelings of guilt that she could treat an innocent this way, and considering giving up her position both for the good of herself and of the child. Whatever had happened to those thoughts? She'd always been too afraid, she admitted to herself; to scared to strike out alone in a world where she was just as un-special as everyone else. It had taken a lot for her to work here, for muggles, in the first place, and to leave and try to find another position had frightened her down to her core. But as she looked at what she had become – really looked, for the first time in years – Imelda realized she should have gone. She didn't like what she'd become. It was time for a change._

_Lost in memories, Imelda didn't notice the sense that she was being watched; that someone was intruding on her thoughts. If she had, she'd most likely shrug it off; the only magical being in the house was the brat and she was only eight, not old enough for mind magics. Hermione, accustomed to constantly being aware of her nurses turbulent emotions – lest she be on the receiving end of them – had, as usual reached out to the woman's mind and feelings to get a reading when she found out she'd been to see Hermione's parents. She'd been swept away by the strength of the feelings, thoughts and memories the moment she'd touched the nurse's mind with her magic, forced to watch the last eight years of her life with all the emotions and prejudices the squib had hidden away. And so Hermione learnt of the world hidden away just beyond our own, out of reach for any who didn't possess the special gift of magic…_

**…End Memory…**

Hermione looked around the busy magical market place with the detached awe she always felt when she shopped here – it hadn't yet been often enough to insulate her to the wonder most felt the first time they went from the mundane to the magical world. She ignored the looks of pity she was receiving from the parents of the other muggle-born children and looked at her new classmates. She couldn't help but be disappointed. Not one of them seemed to be someone she could connect with; and her experience with her nurse told her it would be very unlikely for her to be accepted by the rather uptight pureblood community.

They were escorted around very efficiently by Professor McGonagall and by lunch time they had finished all their shopping. Starting at _Gringotts_ to exchange muggle money for wizarding – Hermione had brought extra money for some… _additional_ items she wanted – then moving onto _Flourish and Blotts_ for books, _Madam Malkin's_ for robes, the local apothecary for potions ingredients and implements, various other stores for bits and pieces they'd need, and, of course, _Ollivanders_ for their wands.

Hermione considered Ollivander for a moment. She'd sensed something _otherworldly_ about the old man; as though he didn't really belong here… though Hermione had no idea what that meant, it was simply what she had felt, and it almost distracted her from the strange reaction she'd observed from the man – if he _was_ a man – when her wand – vine wood with dragon heartstring core – had chosen her. She knew it unlikely she'd get an answer for the reaction any time soon, though; so she pushed the question to the back of her mind for later consideration.

Having already obtained much of what she'd need for her first year, Hermione had, of course, gotten things that were a lot different from her peers, but no-one needed to know about it, she decided. They expected her to know nothing about her new environment, she wouldn't disappoint. Before they left for home they ate lunch in the pub that was the entrance to the Alley's – the _Leaky Cauldron_. It wasn't too bad, Hermione thought, although a bit old fashioned for her tastes. Her parents enjoyed far more exotic fare at their table; reminding them of all the different journeys they had taken around the world. Sometimes Hermione wished that she could go with them to new places, but they had always claimed that they needed time to themselves away from their daughter. Considering that that was how they lived their lives – away from her – Hermione thought this rather dramatic statement was quite over the top. Still, the food wasn't too bad, and she supposed she could look forward to the old-fashioned dishes at school, as the wizarding world seemed to be very traditional. Maybe she could take a few cookbooks and learn to cook outside of class time.

The whole day had been a mixture of disappointment – as she hadn't met any friends – and excitement – she was finally going to Hogwarts! Finally somewhere her parents had never been; now she was the one leaving _them_ behind – and by the time she arrived back on her front porch, she was exhausted. And all the time a question was echoing in the back of her mind. Was she destined to be alone forever?

* * *

When Hermione arrived back home, she walked in the front door to find her tutor, Mister R.J. Lupin, standing in the front hall waiting for her, bags around him.

R.J. Lupin – she'd never learnt what his initials stood for – had been hired by her parents when Hermione was eight, and her school had contacted them about her being too bored with the school curriculum. They'd recommended a tutor for her and her parents had promptly fired her nurse – deciding her to be too old for one anyway – and Hermione had met him in the same afternoon. She'd never gone back to school, and had flourished under the gentle man's tutelage.

The first time she'd sensed him with her magic – she had known by then what it was – she'd felt something within him respond. It had been incredible, scanning someone else who had magic; and though she'd sensed his gentle nature, there was, underlying it, something savage and wild; something that stopped her from ever reaching out to him on any magical level ever again. She'd considered asking him about it; but had in the end decided against it. While it would have been nice to go to someone with her magical questions, she decided that it would bring her attention she really didn't want. So he remained largely a mystery to her, but he was probably the only dependable adult she'd ever known, and it made her sad that they would now part ways.

Hermione frowned. "What's going on here?" she asked him softly.

The man – somewhere in his thirties, Hermione knew – smiled at her tightly. "Your parents have informed me that you've chosen a boarding school to attend. They've given me quite a handsome severance pay; but I need to leave soon."

"I'm sorry… do you have to go today?"

"No, I don't; and don't be sorry. They gave me a month to get settled. But I had a feeling you'd be starting on a… different path soon, so I have something else lined up. I wanted to say goodbye to you though," Mr. Lupin spoke softly and sincerely, as he usually did; though this time there was a mysterious smile present.

He looked, for a moment, like he was arguing with himself about something, then he seemed to make up his mind in an instant, and spoke to her with an intensity and emotion he never had before.

"Hermione, you're very brilliant. But more than that, you're _smart_; and that's very different. You can go anywhere in this world. Don't let anything hold you back – including them. They don't deserve you, and I want you to remember that. I also want you to know that there is somewhere out there that _does_. Don't give up hope. Ever. Now, good luck with your new school. I know you'll do well." He gave that mysterious smile again, and he was gone. Hermione, though she knew it was unlikely, had a sudden and strange feeling they would meet again... soon. She knew with equal certainty that – even if they _never_ met again – she'd remember his words for a long time to come…

* * *

When Hermione had turned six, her parents had presented her with her first personal account and taught her how to use the card attached to it, then promptly turned her loose in the local shopping district with a watch and instructions to meet the car in precisely four hours. Reflecting back on that day, Hermione knew she was lucky she wasn't kidnapped or worse, as her nurse had refused to give up her day off – she always took Hermione's birthday off – and her parents had what they considered to be "something more important to do".

In any case, that was the day Hermione also came across _Madam_ Tare's dance studio. She'd ended up staying there the full four hours, had the best time of her short life and used some of her birthday money to join.

_Madam_ Tare was a thirty-something, French, previous professional dancer and dance champion – and daughter to a professional ballerina – who'd been forced to give up her career when she'd become pregnant; and had to find some way to support them and her mother when she'd fallen on hard times. Now the two elder ladies ran the dance school and Nadine, soon to turn nine, looked to join them in the business as soon as she was old enough; she already tutored the younger beginner dancers for her mum. Although they'd met when Hermione was six, she and Nadine had never really become close – the Tare family all too aware of the social barriers Hermione's parents lived by – but the two girls worked well together.

Matron Tare – as Nadine's grandmother went by – was a strict teacher in her late fifties, but no-one would ever make the mistake of labeling her old or frail; especially not in her hearing (extremely good hearing, at that), as it was quite possible they'd walk away missing body parts. She taught ballet to the clients of the school, and easily kept the discipline her students needed to learn their craft.

_Madam_ Tare – who primarily went by that name to keep the richer students parents impressed and was far more fun than her title implied – taught other forms of dancing. She'd designed a program for beginner dancers that started them out easily and allowed them to work their way towards the more complex forms; and specialized in ballroom dancing herself. As the studio became more successful, she had hired other teachers to take classes in both traditional dances of other countries and cultures, but also the more contemporary, modern styles like hip-hop, which were enormously popular.

Hermione had started out in the beginners classes and added ballet after the first year. She'd competed in competitions and done very well; winning quite a few titles – luckily she received a healthy allowance so she didn't need to rely on the relatively small monetary prizes also awarded – and once those classes were no longer overly challenging she'd started adding other classes for fun. Over the years her body had developed to be deceptively slight, masking the strength of which she was capable, and allowed her to cultivate a grace many her age took years to develop.

Hermione exited the car and entered the building; immediately seeking out _Madam_ Tare. It was one thing she liked about the head teacher – she was always available to her students, and knew each of them by name. Once she was free, Hermione spoke to her.

"May I have a moment, _Madam_ Tare?"

The lady – for she was, most defiantly a _lady_, despite what anyone said – smiled at her, and drew her to the side with an arm about the shoulder and a soft, "of course, Hermione, what's on your mind?"

"Well… you might know I turned eleven this year. My parents are sending me to a boarding school in Scotland," Hermione told her teacher. "I'll have to… well, withdraw from your school, once the summer is over."

_Madam_ Tare looked at her student in surprise. She knew that the last few years Hermione hadn't gone to a normal school, rather had been tutored at home, and wondered about the change in plans.

"Are you… ok with that?" she asked uncertainly, wondering if the child had any say at all.

"Oh, yes. It will mean giving up some things that I love, but it's a wonderful opportunity. Very exclusive, and the classes are supposed to be very challenging," Hermione couldn't have faked that much enthusiasm if her life depended on it.

_Madam_ Tare looked over the longest student to have ever stayed with her studio, and smiled. She was so happy about everything that Hermione had accomplished under her instruction. She didn't think she'd ever been prouder as a teacher – except of her own daughter of course, but that was another matter and quite natural.

"Well, I can only hope we'll see you back next summer. Keep up your dancing, Hermione. You have a natural talent that can't be learnt. Don't let it go to waste," she advised.

"I'll have to see what happens, of course, but I'd love to come back for summer classes next year; and I will. I love dancing. Thanks for everything _Madam_," Hermione said sincerely. She smiled once more for her teacher; then went to find her other instructors to inform them of her imminent departure.

* * *

The day had come. Hermione took a deep breath as she left her parents car behind and walked into the station. She'd awoken that morning with the sun, too excited to sleep anymore, and had double-checked everything packed into her designer trunk. She'd had it made in a store run by a muggle-born wizard, and it was worth every knut she'd paid. Light weight no matter how much was put into it, crafted from beautiful butter-soft, honey coloured leather with her initials artistically tooled on top. While it had a few magical conveniences – such as a magical-signature lock, a secret compartment hidden by magic and a "library function" witch allowed her to call out any book she wanted by title, author or subject – it also was made to look like it had been created by modern muggles, with a handle and wheel system to role along the ground, and a few matching accessories.

She'd found, on her bedside table, a note from her parents, about having a good journey and not getting into trouble, and that if she needed anything they'd wire her money straight away. She'd gotten it today because they were leaving themselves on a trip to Paris, but they'd written in their letter for her to enjoy her last week of freedom before school. She was lucky to have gotten the letter at all.

Once she'd had her luggage taken down to the car, she'd eaten a hasty breakfast, coaxed her owl Isabella into her cage and left, almost an hour ahead of schedule. A good thing too, as traffic was horrendous that morning. They'd arrived at the station in time though, and Hermione was now leaving behind all that was familiar to her.

She walked straight to platforms nine and ten, trunk being pushed on a trolley in front of her, and found a moment to be grateful that _Hogwarts, A History_ was so informative.

Hermione hid her nerves behind apathetic chocolate eyes as she made her way to the seemingly solid brick wall between platforms nine and ten. This was it. Hogwarts. She took a deep, fortifying breath and stepped through.

It was like passing through a wall of cool, calming water on a hot summers' day. The magic in the wall calmed her completely. She left her nerves on the other side of the wall and walked towards her future. It was embodied in a bright red steam engine – and it was beautiful. She made her way on board at the middle, her trunk pulled along behind her.

The first compartment she passed was full of loud, gossiping, giggly girls – mostly older than her – and she shied away. She passed many like them, recognizing a few of the muggleborn, and almost despaired until she came to the last compartment. It was like an island of calm in the middle of a stormy sea. Inside were two boys about her age – one looked a little younger – and she immediately sent her magic towards them. She blinked. They were just like her. She smiled in relief. "Hi. I'm Hermione Granger. Do you mind if I join you?"

The boys looked at each other; neither seemed to object.

"That would be fine," the dark-haired boy agreed quietly, and the two boys helped the girl bring in her trunk and familiar and settle into the compartment.

* * *

_**TBC…**_

_A/N: Again, my apologies. And so, in this chapter, Hermione is introduced. _

_In case anyone is wondering "500 pounds per quarter" would translate into 2000 pounds per year. Nice dad, huh? Would this be enough for an exclusive boarding school? I wouldn't know… and in case no-one noticed, I've never been to England myself, so I'm hoping that having a rather large house on some extensive (but not overly so) grounds on the outskirts of Oxford isn't something that's very far-fetched. My most humble and abject apologies if it isn't – or if you happen to live in Oxford and really didn't like this chapter. _

_Also, in regards to Hermione's parents – obviously I made up their names, I checked the Harry Potter Lexicon and they are simply called "unnamed Muggles" so I did my best for naming them. _

_Umm… I really don't know how Remus managed to sneak in here. I was going to name him "Gabriel Shepherd" and have him be a random muggle; but he was turning out to be so much like Remus that I changed it. Stroke of brilliance or insanity? I always thought Remus had been a teacher of some sort, considering what his luggage says in PoA. Suddenly the thought 'what was Remus doing all those years? Wouldn't it be interesting to see?' came upon me, and this was the answer._

_Madam Tare (Tar – ri)._

_Next chapter will be the story proper getting started. Hope you enjoyed!_


	8. Interlude 4: Harry

_Disclaimer: I do not own the concept and characters of Harry Potter… actually, I'm not sure I'd want to. What a complicated mess! A/N: And here is the next step in Harry's time line. Hope you enjoy! This Interlude and Chapter Three are dedicated to_ Lakewater_. Check A/N at the end to see why!_

* * *

**Interlude**

**Harry, Age 4**

Harry held his burnt hand under the faucet that gushed cold water, rather thankful that Aunt Petunia had recently deemed him a competent enough cook to leave him unsupervised. Usually he was very careful when cooking his family's dinner, but he was only four, and as such had a four-year-olds hands, which weren't really suited for the labour he now endeavored to achieve – and so he had accidentally burned himself on the pan. If Aunt Petunia had been "supervising" she wouldn't have let him treat the burn until he'd finished, and according to a first aid book he'd read in the local library, it was important to get the heat out of a burn as soon as possible.

When Harry had left the food as long as he dared, he turned off the water and went about serving the Dursleys their dinner. He himself wouldn't touch any of the food he'd worked so hard to prepare; lest he should be slapped across the face by Aunt Petunia for being greedy or bashed over the head by his uncles meaty fist (or whatever hard, unbreakable object Vernon found close at hand) for being ungrateful. Instead, he snuck a few slices of bread into his pocket, along with a few shavings of meat he'd procured from the bone that the Dursleys were saving to send to Aunt Marge's pets (Vernon's sister raised dogs).

Harry might have suffered far more injuries than he did if he didn't disappear everyday to the only safe place for him in his world – the library. There he read; all day, everyday. When he had finished what books had interested him for his age group, he moved onto other books; books that spoke of the world outside of Privet Drive and Surrey, outside of London and even Britain. He learned about other cultures and geography, he learned about the history of the world, he learned about mathematics (something that was easy for him to understand, considering his first love of music), he learned all about the English language and how to tell apart verbs from nouns, and all other sorts of useful and interesting things.

The last book he'd picked up was all about the history of British law; the origins of it and how parliament worked and how it had evolved from the feudal system to what ruled today. It made mention of something Harry felt he had to look up for himself: child laws. Specifically, the laws dealing with how a guardian should treat a child under their care. Having found a reference to the particular law he wanted to look at, Harry proceeded to find said reference, a law dictionary and an oxford dictionary. What followed was a period of enlightenment to Harry. Having the vaguest recollection of what life had been like for him before he lived with the Dursleys, it hadn't been a life-shattering discovery; but it had been hard for him to swallow, especially given the lessons being drilled into him day in and day out.

Vernon Dursley was _wrong_.

Petunia Dursley was _wrong_.

And the hardest of all to come to grips with:

Harry was being abused.

_And it was wrong._

* * *

**TBC...**

_A/N: Short and sweet, I know. As the kids get older, these little back stories will get longer. I'm not really sure how that happened… _

_Oh, and PS: a special message to Lakewater; thank-you so much for that little reminder you sent me! I have had trouble with the third chapter of this story for so long, I'd almost given up on it. You gave me a kick just when I needed it, so thanks!_


	9. Chapter Four: Finding Your Feet

_Disclaimer: I do not own the concept and characters of Harry Potter. Right now I own a headache. Anyone want it?_

**Chapter Four**

**Finding Your Feet**

"Hi. I'm Hermione Granger. Do you mind if I join you?"

The boys looked at each other; neither seemed to object.

"That would be fine," the dark-haired boy agreed quietly, and the two boys helped the girl bring in her trunk and familiar and settle into the compartment.

They introduced themselves – Hermione's mind quickly reviewing everything she'd read about the Boy-Who-Lived, wondering how much was accurate – and their familiars; and Hermione was about to heft her trunk on top of the boys trunks, when Ron interrupted her.

"We'll get it. Please, sit down," Ron offered their help politely.

"Thanks," she said in relief.

Harry and Ron piled her trunk on top of theirs, and she sat after placing her own owl Isabella with Hedwig, Pasht and Michael Angelo.

The three children sat in a silence that should have been awkward and yet, somehow, wasn't. It was almost as though they'd known each other years instead of a few moments. While waiting for the train to start its journey, they watched all the people on the platform.

Harry watched a round faced boy nervously telling an older lady that he addressed as 'Gran' that he'd lost his toad. The woman seemed to be very strict, and quite exasperated.

"Oh, Neville," he heard the old woman sigh.

Hermione watched an obviously rich family appear on the platform – probably by port-key, she mused, they seemed wealthy enough – a father, who looked around as though everything around him was dirty and unbecoming; a mother who looked as though she had an unpleasant smell under her nose, except when she looked at the child with them; and a boy who had to be their son, trying to pretend he wasn't excited. They all had blond hair and superior expressions, and Hermione watched the boy wiggle free of his mothers farewell embrace in embarrassment.

"Mother!" she heard him hiss.

Ron was watching a group of obviously older students joking around, greeting each other as they came back from holiday. Most already had their robes on and they seemed to be a mix of mostly Hufflepuff with a few Gryffindoors and Ravenclaws mixed in. Two of the boys seemed to be friendly rivals.

"Not this year, Oliver. Hufflepuff is going all the way!" One boy proclaimed, his friend immediately refuting the statement.

"Not happening, Cedric!"

Over the top of all the chatter came the loud voices of two red-heads talking to their mother.

"Hey, mum!" one of them shouted for her attention.

"Guess what? Lee's got this huge tarantula, it's wicked!" the other gushed. His mother didn't look impressed.

Their attention focused on the red-haired family just outside their window; now missing, of course, one eleven year old boy.

"That's nice dear," although, the way she said it, you could tell she didn't think it was nice at all, "where's Percy?" their mother asked.

"He's coming now," the little girl answered as she pointed out her older brother to her mother.

He came striding pompously up to his mother, already in his Hogwarts robes with a shiny silver badge on his chest that had the letter _P_ on it, his red hair tidy and glasses propped on his nose.

"Can't stay long, Mother," he spoke just as pompously as he walked, "I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartment to themselves – " He was interrupted by one of his younger brothers.

"Oh, are you a _Prefect_, Percy?" said one of the twins with an air of surprise. "You should have said something, we had no idea!"

"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it," said the other twin, "once – "

"Or twice – "

"A minute – "

"All summer – "

"Oh shut up," Percy cut off his brothers' sentence that had bounced back and forth between them.

Hermione noticed the similarities between them and the red-haired boy she'd just met. "Is that your family?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," Ron replied, the sorrow in his voice telling them far more than the monosyllable answer.

Ron was watching them in a detached fashion, and it was only Harry's years of interpreting human behaviour that allowed him to see the truth shining from the other boys blue eyes. He desperately wanted to be a part of them; accepted as a member and yet, for some reason, Harry knew that he wasn't.

Hermione saw the sadness in Ron's eyes; knew it was the pain of not being accepted by the family that brought you into this world, the same pain she dealt with everyday. She sighed and turned back to the window. They tuned back into the conversation just as Percy kissed him Mother on the cheek and left. She immediately turned on her twin sons.

"Now, you two – this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've – you've blown up a toilet or – "

"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea though, thanks, Mum."

"It's _not funny_. And write to Ginny," she ordered.

"'Course we will. Hey mum, you know who'll be in Hogwarts this year?"

"Who?"

"Harry Potter!"

All three watching in the compartment automatically flinched back to hide from the red-haired family.

"Wonder if we can find him?"

"If you do, you be nice to the poor boy. No family – "

"Never mind that, do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?"

Their mother turned a stern look on them. "I forbid you to ask him, Fred. No, don't you dare! As though he needs reminding of that on his first day of school!"

The three watched the family until the train sounded its whistle and all the students scrambled into their compartments, saying one last goodbye.

The twins leaned out a window as their little sister began to cry.

"Don't, Ginny, we'll send you loads of owls," one red-haired boy said.

"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat," the other added, trying to cheer her up.

"_George!_" the shocked exclamation of their mother made them grin.

"Only joking, mum," he excused himself (1).

The train moved off; the red-haired girl and her mother waving goodbye until they were out of sight, and instead of the train station, houses began flashing past their window.

* * *

After the train had left, the three companions had settled into a comfortable silence; each revelling in the unusual sensation of… _belonging_ they felt; minds focused on one aspect or another of their recent introduction.

Harry remembered the odd sensation of touching someone else's magic; the girl, Hermione, had used hers to read his and Ron's auras. It had been instinct to respond the same way, manipulating the energy within to connect with hers and learn from it the same technique. It would take some practice, but with the control he already had over his core, it didn't represent much of a challenge. He was more interested in what he had learned about his two companions from the brief touch. Each had a maturity he rarely encountered in adults, let alone others of his own age; a wearied but strong determination; and a soul-deep pain. Kindred spirits…

Ron had been thinking on his companions, and most specifically, what had happened when Hermione had entered their compartment. He had analyzed the meeting in his mind thoroughly and was now… absolutely flabbergasted. Overwhelmed. _Amazed_. It had been incredible; and something that was meant to be _impossible_. Hermione had manipulated her magic without a wand. Granted, it wasn't a spell she had cast, but to send out one's magic without a magical focus, to do a specific job and have the magic respond was… well, everything he'd ever read said one thing: what had just happened, couldn't. But it _had_. So that meant that the books were wrong… that perhaps, true wandless magic was possible… Ron boggled at the implication. Hermione Granger may not have known it, but she had just opened up a whole new world to Ronald Weasley…

Hermione's mind was similarly occupied. Sending out her magic was an instinct, something that she did because it was her magic's way of keeping her safe. She didn't honestly control it. But she could analyze everything that the scan told her, and learn from it. When she had touched the boy's auras, she had the immediate knowledge that they were _like her_ – which was mind boggling in itself – and now that she could sit down and remember, review and sort through the information her scan downloaded to her mind, she could now find out a lot more about them. Ron had sensed her. No-one else ever had before. His magic was extremely powerful, probably more so than hers, and very sensitive. It had surprised her. What had truly shocked her, though – once she realized _what_ it was she was sensing – was Harry. His magic was extremely powerful, yes; more than Ron, but that was all she could tell about his power level with such a quick scan. It was the sense of control, though, that had amazed her. Harry seemed to have, from that brief contact, learned from her magic in the same way she learned people's personalities. She wondered, then, if it was something she could learn – absolute control of her ability. And if she had control of _that_, then… what else could she do?

* * *

Hermione had pulled out _Hogwarts, A History_ to read more closely about the houses of Hogwarts.

_The four founders of Hogwarts each took on the students whose characteristics they admired most. Slytherin, those of great cunning; Gryffindoor taught the brave of heart; Ravenclaw took all those with a sharp mind and desire to learn and Hufflepuff chose children who were patient and hard-working. Today, students are divided into four different houses, each named in honour of a founder, and each the embodiment of the same characteristics the founders favoured…_

Hermione thought about what she had just read. _I wonder what the houses are really like…_ well, she could ask a logical source. "Ron?" she quietly got his attention. The boy looked up from the muggle book he was reading. "Do you know anything about the four houses?" she asked. Harry also put his book down – some sort of advanced mathematical textbook she thought – and looked to Ron, interested in his answer. Ron considered.

"I know what other people have told me," he offered. When their interest did not abate – and wouldn't Ron had to get used to _that_; magical brethren _listening_ to what he had to say – he continued his explanation. "Most of the people I know are either Gryffindoors or Hufflepuffs; and of course, each thought their house the best. Gryffindoors are chosen for their courage, but on the whole, they're also rather… bull-headed. Have trouble accepting new things and don't like being wrong, you know?" Both his friends nodded their heads. "Also, very curious. People think Gryffindoors are really brave, but I think it's because they do things before they think it through and then have to brazen it out," he finished his own observation with a smile. His new friends smiled back. "Hufflepuffs… very loyal, but that's probably from having to always band together for defense. Always underestimated, but a lot of the time they just seem to meet those expectations, like what's the use of changing everyone's opinion?" Ron tried to find the words to explain. "Ravenclaws have the reputation for being smart, but also everyone I know think them to be somewhat obsessive. Have to be the best or I'm nothing kind of attitude. Slytherins… well, everyone I know have at least one Slytherin they hate with a passion. As far as I can see, they're mostly stirrers – they have a bad reputation; everyone thinks they're automatically going to go dark no matter what they do, so why not do something to deserve it? It's like there's a division in our world caused by something that happened when someone turns eleven," Ron finished his explanations and observations with a thoughtful look.

Harry and Hermione considered everything they'd ever heard and read of the wizarding world.

"It's strange; you hear about famous people and what their old house is and it's almost like everyone expects people in that house to become a carbon-copy of that person the moment they're sorted. Dumbledore was a Gryffindoor, so every Gryffindoor is obviously heroic and trustworthy," Harry observed.

"Rebular Floo (2) was a Ravenclaw, so of course all Ravenclaws should be creative and innovative and have hundreds of ideas for new inventions," Hermione continued with a smile.

"And of course everyone in Hufflepuff should be a politician like Thebulus Gapp, or a world-renowned humanitarian like his sister Tarsha," Ron grinned.

Harry sighed, and became somewhat serious. "Or evil, like Voldemort, if you're Slytherin."

His friends also sobered and looked at his thoughtful expression. "I wonder if it's something we can change?" he pondered aloud.

"Change? A whole society?" Hermione asked, her voice skeptical, but her expression interested.

"Why not?" Ron looked at his two companions as he spoke, "we're going to school with most of the future population, and we have seven years to get through to them. Could be interesting!"

The three smiled. Their journey continued.

* * *

It was around half-twelve when a polite knock sounded on the door of their compartment. The three blinked at each other and Hermione got up to answer the door.

"Yes?" she asked as she opened the door to reveal a middle-aged witch pushing a trolley down the train corroder.

She smiled at the three children. "Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Ron and Harry joined Hermione at the door, and they looked over the candy on the top tray. Harry took in all the different names in wonder. "What's all this?"

"Wizarding candy. Some of it can be pretty good. I haven't really had much of it myself; but I love the _Chocolate Frogs_. They can be fun," Ron answered with a nostalgic smile.

"I'll have one of everything," Harry said, smiling back, "so we can try everything." He dug out his money pouch.

Hermione had been examining the bottom rung of the trolley. "What's all this?" she asked her friend.

"Those are all the different wizarding publications," Ron explained after taking a look. "_Witch Weekly_ is like a gossip magazine for witches and the _Daily Prophet_ is our newspaper… of course it's the only one we have so they can really print anything they want. It isn't always accurate. The _Quibbler_ is… well, you know all those conspiracy rags muggles have?" Harry and Hermione nodded. "It's like our version of that. All these theories but no real proof. _Kids Are Krazy_ is a parenting magazine and _Poisoning Parents_ is for kids."

Hermione nodded her thanks and said to the trolley witch "we'll have one of each of these, too, thanks," pulling out a few gold coins of her own. After they had everything they wanted from the trolley they retreated back inside their compartment to explore everything.

Ron was right. The _Chocolate Frogs_ were a blast. They had fun guessing what each _Burty Botts Every Flavoured Bean_ was, but all agreed it wouldn't become a favourite. They tried the _Blood Pops_ and the _Fendous Fungi_, and Hermione decided the _Cockroach Clusters_ and _Ice Mice_ were her favourites and Harry found he loved _Sugar Quills_.

After they had fun with all the candy, and Ron had shared all the packed food he'd brought for lunch, they turned to the magazines.

Hermione took the woman's rag and the newspaper, Harry grabbed the Quibbler and the parenting magazine, and Ron lazily flipped through the kids' magazine. It wasn't long after that Hermione made a comment about the main story on the front page of the newspaper. "Gringotts was broken into!" This caught both boys attention.

"What? What happened to them?" Harry asked.

"Nothing! Listen to this:

_GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST_

_Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown._

_Gringotts' goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day._

'_But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you,' said a Gringotts' spokesgoblin this afternoon._" (3)

"Wow. I didn't think it was possible to get into Gringotts and out again without getting caught… everyone's going to be in a dither over this," Ron mused.

"Why?" Hermione asked curiously. "It's just a bank."

"Because ever since… well, you-know-who, anything like this happening is automatically blamed on dark wizards and everyone gets… antsy. Afraid," Ron explained to his two friends.

"Oh. Do you say his name?" Harry asked hesitantly.

Ron thought for a moment. "Not really. But it's more habit, you know? My parents never say it and my brothers and sister never say it… and they'd get upset if I said it, you know? But I'm not really afraid of saying it like everyone else seems to be. I don't say it to keep everyone else happy."

"Why is the rest of your family afraid of it?" Hermione asked, intrigued by the difference between her new friend and his family.

"I suppose because my mum and dad taught them to be… I didn't ever spend much time at the Burrow, though, so… I guess it didn't really rub off on me. Did you know it took nearly _three years_ for me to find out what his name was, because no-one would ever say it? Stupid really. I suppose I'm not really afraid of it because it annoyed me so much not knowing and having to find out for myself," Ron explained to them as he thought it through for himself.

"I guess that makes sense," Hermione mused.

"Hermione, did they say what the vault number was?" Harry suddenly asked.

"Umm… yes. Vault three hundred and twelve," Hermione answered.

"Strange. That's the vault Hagrid and I went to," Harry mused. At his two friends' curious looks, Harry went on to explain what had happened the day Hagrid had taken him around Diagon Alley and to Gringotts Bank.

"Wow. So… whatever was there is…" Ron said slowly…

"Probably at Hogwarts right now," Harry finished.

"I wonder what it is." Hermione questioned aloud.

The two boys shrugged, wondering the same thing.

"Well, whatever it is, someone is after it. It seems to be strange to have something like that in a school, where the students could get hurt," Hermione said in disapproval.

"Mmmm," Harry agreed absently. "Still, I doubt it has anything to do with us. We'll just be careful," he said, and his two new friends agreed, and put aside the matter, for what they thought would be the last time.

They had been travelling for about another three hours, chatting quietly, when there came a knock on their compartment door. The three shared a quick look; then Hermione called "come in." The door opened to reveal a round-faced boy; he had soft brown hair and soulful brown eyes; and looked like he might burst into tears at a moments notice. Harry recognized the boy from the platform; he'd been with an older lady.

"E-excuse me," he spoke quietly, with a tremor and a bit of a stutter in his voice.

"Yes?" Hermione asked him gently, sensing that he really was about to break apart.

"I-I can't f-find Trevor," the boy said.

"Is that your familiar?" Ron asked, but the boy shook his head (4) and said, "my pet, but I – "

"I understand," Ron smiled.

"What is he?" Harry asked.

The boy blushed. "Um… he's a… well, a toad," he muttered, clearly embarrassed.

Harry smiled. "Don't worry. I'm sure we'll find him. What's your name?" he distracted everyone as he reached into his power, telling it to find the animal and draw it here. The shy boy blushed again. "I-I'm sorry. My name's Neville. Neville Longbottom…" he trailed off as a toad hopped happily through the door and into his outstretched hands. "Trevor!" he exclaimed joyously.

Harry smiled in satisfaction. "I knew he'd turn up."

"Thank you so much!" Neville said as he hurried back to his own compartment. Ron and Hermione both noticed Harry's smile, and wondered about it, but each pushed it to the back of their minds to be thought about later when their peace was interrupted for a second time in very short order.

The door burst open with a bang, and the three looked up to see, standing in their doorway, the boy Harry had met in Diagon Alley. It was the same one Hermione had seen on the platform with his family, and he was a familiar face to Ron; though he didn't think the boy would recognize him in return. He was backed by two heavyset boys of similar build and with matching oblivious expressions.

The boy who was obviously the leader spoke. "Hello," his gaze swept over them, almost dismissive, but he paused and took a second longer look, his gaze lingering on Harry. He smirked. "I see we meet again," he said and sat himself next to the dark-haired boy, looking at his two companions critically. He didn't linger over them though, and turned back to Harry. He stuck his hand out. "I'm Draco Malfoy. We didn't get to exchange names before," he spoke with a proprietary tone, shooting a look at the other two sitting across from them, to see if they reacted at all. They didn't. Harry shook his hand briefly but firmly, remembering the last time he'd seen the boy. It had been a few weeks after he'd met Hagrid and bought his school supplies, and he'd been with his busking group…

_**Memory**_

_That night they were playing at a muggle restaurant – Harry knew it to be run by a squib – that also catered to magical people as well. It was quite a favourite spot for the magically gifted to have a "muggle experience" and especially popular among Ministry of Magic workers for political dinners. He'd overheard many a heated conversation that went completely unnoticed by the muggles who dined there; luckily he wasn't affected by the muggle-repelling charms all over the wizarding section put into place, apparently, by the squib's magical family._

_It was as he and the rest of "Buskers Anonymous" (this was an in-house joke name for themselves) were playing that Harry's instinct _nudged_ him. He looked up to the wizarding entrance and suddenly realized why that boy in Madam Malkin's shop was familiar – he and what looked like his parents had just made an appearance. They were obviously quite well-known judging by the looks and whispers that followed them to the Minister's private table. None of the family bothered themselves to look into the muggle section of the restaurant; and considering the boy's apparent inherited prejudice against all things muggle-related Harry didn't have to wonder too long on why exactly they'd caused such a stir with their appearance; or their apparent snobbishness._

_Harry smiled grimly. So the boy was connected. Harry would have to be careful how he handled him; too much animosity would cause Harry no end of trouble, but there was no way they would be friends, either, unless the boy changed his tune drastically. Harry would use his precious violin for kindling before he became friends with a bigot._

_**End Memory**_

Harry shook off the memory and studied the boy's two gorilla-like bodyguards, who were waiting in the doorway. Malfoy noticed his gaze and introduced them.

"This is Crabbe, and Goyle," he indicated the shorter boy first, obviously not interested in his lackeys.

Harry nodded to them politely, and said "I'm pleased to meet you."

They seemed rather shocked to be spoken to, and Malfoy flushed with displeasure. He addressed the three friends loudly, obviously trying to bring the attention back to himself.

"Who are you lot, then?" the pale boy asked, rather rudely.

Harry didn't see any reason to be cordial in return. "Harry," he said, softly and shortly.

"Ron," took his cue from is new friend.

"Hermione," she added in thinly veiled disgust.

It was a testimony, perhaps, to how dense the three boys seemed to be that they didn't notice.

Malfoy started a one-sided conversation that didn't seem to need anyone else's input; and Harry had the idea under all his bluster that Draco had grown up a very lonely child.

The boy finished with a throw-away comment as he got up and left their carriage. "I'm going to see if I can find that Potter kid. He's meant to be here this year. I wanted to get a look at him..."

He didn't look back as he lead his two lackeys away, shutting the door behind him just as loudly as he'd opened it.

The three exchanged amused glances, wondering how the pretentious boy would react when he found out about Harry.

"You've met Malfoy before?" Ron asked, curiously.

"In Diagon Alley the day I picked up my supplies for school," Harry explained with a nod. "But I've also seen him and his family before…" Harry went on to explain to the others what he knew about the family from his observations.

"Do you know anything about them, Ron?" Hermione asked; intrigued at the influence Draco's parents seemed to wield.

"I've heard my dad speak about Lucious Malfoy, Draco's dad. Apparently they were the first to claim they'd only been on the Dark Side because they'd been bewitched; a lot of people got out of Azkaban when they realized Voldemort was gone by doing that. My Father doesn't believe it, but aside from Malfoy senior's actions, I get the feeling there's something else between our family and theirs… I don't know what it is though, or if it's only between just our fathers or our whole families. It's hard to tell. All I know is, my father is a pretty easy-going guy; things that get him riled up are few and far between… and Lucious Malfoy is one of them."

Their quiet conversation was interrupted – again – by the door opening. Two identical red-headed faced peered in at them. Twin mischievous grins spread across their shared countenance as the Weasley twins took in the occupants of the compartment.

"Ronnikens!" their delighted cry caused Ron to narrow his eyes suspiciously; and his two new friends took their cue from him, watching the identical twins carefully.

"So who are your new friends?" George asked.

Most of Ron's attention automatically went to Fred as he answered, well-accustomed to the twins' diversionary tactics. "This is Hermione and Harry – " he was cut off by a blur of movement; Harry's hand had darted forward and plucked from the air the stink-bomb Fred had dropped before it hit the ground and activated. The younger boy stood and looked up at Fred innocently, who was still startled by the move. So was Ron – he'd never seen someone move so fast.

"I think you dropped this," he smiled, guilessly shoving the stink-bomb into Fred's hand in time for it to activate by the fail-safe Ron knew the twins always added to their pranks. Both older boys shouted in disgust, attracting the attention of an older boy walking past. He was a burly teenager wearing Gryffindoor robes, with brown hair and blue eyes, and Ron remembered seeing him on the platform talking to a Hufflepuff boy about the same age.

"What's going on – " he started to ask, but then he caught a whiff. It was like watching a volcano erupt. "Fred! George! How many times have I told you – "

"Oi, Oliver! You're not our mum!"

"Starting to sound like her though!"

"No, I'm not your mum. Unlike her, you can't get away from me. I'm your team captain, and I don't want to lose my beaters to detention before we even arrive at school! Now get out of here and leave the first-years alone or I'll have you doing laps every morning – before breakfast!"

The twins looked at him, stymied, before his threat seemed to penetrate the daze and they bolted. The three first-years looked up at the older boy, bemused. He turned to them.

"Sorry about them. Too hyper for their own good," he quickly swished his wand, cleaning the last of the smell that had left with the two troublemakers. "I'm Oliver Wood, Gryffindoor Quidditch Captain," he introduced himself (5).

"I'm Ron – " Ron started, but the older boy interrupted.

"Weasley, right?" he grinned. "I've met most of your brothers. Good Quidditch players – except Percy – your brothers. Charlie was the best, I reckon. Could have gone professional. How're you with Quidditch?"

The three first years looked at each other amused, noticing a definite theme to the monologue.

"I've not had much chance to play, really. These are my friends, Harry and Hermione," Ron replied.

Oliver's attention shifted to them. "Good to meet you," he said enthusiastically. "Don't suppose either of you play?"

"Well, we were raised by muggles; but it seems to be very… entertaining," Harry answered. "Thanks for your help, by the way, with those boys," he added.

"No problem. I need to go, good luck for your sorting!" and with that Oliver was gone, leaving behind the three first years who stared after him, bemused.

"Interesting…" Hermione murmured.

"Very… interesting," Harry agreed, and Ron made a sound of agreement as they sat down.

Soon the compartment was again filled with quiet conversation.

* * *

The disastrous duo – as Harry and Hermione had promptly dubbed Ron's twin brothers – had not long been chased off by Oliver Wood when their compartment received another visit. Two girls, obviously first years, knocked on their door. Ron got up and opened it. Before he could say anything, one of them spoke up.

"Hi! I'm Susan Bones – this is my best friend, Lisa Turpin. Who are you?" Bones, her black hair secured in a messy pony tail that reached her waist and brown eyes sparkling, spoke very enthusiastically as she pulled the other girl – who was blond haired and blue eyed, and seemed very reluctant – into their compartment behind her.

"Uh… I'm Ron, and this is Harry and Hermione," the red-head spoke, rather bamboozled.

"Great! You're all first years, right? We're trying to meet them all. Are you a Weasley? Only I didn't know they had a kid our age, so maybe you aren't – "

"Susan!" her shy friend overrode the sudden tirade. The outspoken girl blinked, then blushed.

"Sorry. I sometimes get carried away," she apologized. "It's just none of you have ever been to social," she explained, as she plopped down on a seat, dragging her protesting friend with her.

"Social?" Hermione questioned.

"It's something most pureblood families get involved in," Ron explained as he, too, took his seat. "All the communities scattered around have their own. I never really went to the Ottery St. Catchpole group for my age; sometimes – about four times a year – they all have one huge get-together. It's so magical kids can play with each other, and adults have contacts outside of work and parents can have a support network, and the older group run date-nights and things… just so we can be ourselves without hiding anything."

The two visitors nodded their heads in agreement.

"Some families don't attend, of course – mostly the so-called 'dark' families – " she used her fingers to illustrate _dark_ " – but it's great fun! That's how I met Lisa!" Susan smiled again – she did that a lot – and Lisa also gave a shy smile.

"So… you _are_ a Weasley, right?" Susan turned her attention to the tall boy.

He gave a reluctant smile. "Yeah," Ron said quietly.

"Well, we just wanted to invite all the muggleborns – and you, too, Ron – to our social meeting. We decided we wanted to keep it up through the school year. I don't agree with house isolation – " Susan interrupted herself after a look from her friend " – well, we should keep going. We'll let you know about the meeting!" And they were gone just as quickly as they had come.

* * *

When the train finally pulled into Hogsmeade station, Harry, Ron and Hermione had settled into a comfortable, companionable, silence. Already in their robes, they exited the train, leaving behind their luggage and familiars, and moved towards a voice that, to Harry at least, was very familiar.

"First years, this way! First years!" Hagrid was standing at one end of the station, lantern in hand, calling for all the new Hogwarts arrivals. When he saw Harry he gave a great big smile and greeted him warmly. "How're you doin' Harry?"

"I'm well, thank you Hagrid," Harry replied, with less emotion showing in this voice than Hagrid but no less sincerely.

When all the first years had been gathered, they all moved off together after Hagrid, along a dark and slippery path, until they came to a harbour. Sitting waiting for them were little boats, and they all clambered into them – four to a boat, though Hagrid had one to himself – the three companions with the nervous Neville boy that had lost his toad.

At the first sight of Hogwarts, Harry lost his breath. It was incredible. He'd never seen anything like it before, and he doubted he would ever again. Always believing he'd never be able to come to a magic school, and having learnt years ago that dreams were foolish for those in his position, any and all imaginings he'd had of Hogwarts had been firmly locked away. He'd mislead himself when he thought they hadn't existed – but they had, and now he was here, and it was wonderful! The castle seemed to reach out to him, in a way he'd only felt a few times in his life-time. Welcoming, warm, ready to take him in and allow him to be at home within her walls, as she had done for countless children before him. Harry smiled. _He was home._

Ron had waited for his first look at Hogwarts with trepidation. He'd been looking forward to attending Hogwarts for years – desperate to get away from his loveless family – but Hogwarts was also the place he'd lost his brother Charlie to; the brother that had shown him the only love and acceptance he'd ever known. He was afraid, that while he'd be happy to be there, he'd never feel at home there. But all that was wiped away when he first saw the castle that was to be his new home. It seemed to reach out to him in welcome; and he couldn't hold a grudge for his brother coming here, he just couldn't! Ron was overcome by feelings of welcoming warmth, of acceptance; and he smiled. _He was home._

Hermione had always been left out; left behind; been alone. Her parents lived their lives without her, the other students in her classes were all older than her and ignored her; her peers were so far behind her academically they were almost a different sub-species. While she had always hoped she would receive a Hogwarts letter, she also only ever saw it as a stepping stone to where she wanted to go; she hadn't really considered that she would be accepted here. When she first lifted her eyes towards the old school, she felt like she had been punched. The feelings of acceptance, warmth and welcome enveloped her like a living blanket, and she knew she would be happy there. Hermione relaxed and smiled. _She was home._

* * *

They had left the small boats docked in a small quay in a cave that had its entrance in the side of a cliff face covered in hanging ivy, on the easterly side of the castle and seemed to be almost directly under the school. Once everyone was on dry land again, Hagrid had let them up a twisting, sloping tunnel that emerged in a place hidden by shadows not far from the large, oak doors of Hogwarts; Hagrid quickly checked that everyone was there, pointed out that Trevor had tried to escape again and made sure Neville had him, then knocked, firmly, three times on the oak front doors.

Hermione immediately recognized the stern visage of Professor McGonagall when she answered the summons. The woman led the new first years across an impressive entrance hall and into a small antechamber, where she proceeded to explain the house system and told them the name of the houses themselves; Gryffindoor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. The professor passed a glance over the assembled group – pausing to frown disapprovingly at Neville's rumpled robe, and throwing a quick, relieved look in Harry's direction that only he seemed to notice – then bade them wait quietly while she went to check something – presumably that all the returning students were arrived and seated. As soon as she left, the new first years burst into furious, if quiet, whispers.

Harry, Ron and Hermione stood in the centre, an island of silence listening to the roiling ocean of muttering.

"I'm sure to be in Slytherin," Draco Malfoy boasted as loudly as he dared – everyone around him rolled their eyes, obviously having heard this declaration before.

"I wonder what the sorting is?" another quite, mousy girl spoke.

"My older brother claimed it was really painful," a boy with blond hair spoke in trepidation.

Ron snorted quietly. "That's what Fred and George keep saying, but I think if they can manage it, no-one else could have much of a problem," he said, not loudly, but his voice seemed to carry to all the nervous children surrounding him.

"Anyway, the teachers wouldn't purposefully let anything bad happen to us," Hermione added, her wise words further calming everyone.

"The school wouldn't have such a good reputation if they did," Harry's words finished illustrating the point the three had made; and everyone became relaxed and quiet – even Draco Malfoy.

Into the quite came the sound of a new argument – but it was not the first years. The newest Hogwarts citizens turned as one to observe as – floating nonchalantly through the wall – came what could only be ghosts… arguing about someone called Peeves. The first years watched in fascination as the ghosts continued through the room and out through the wall on the other side, calling out geetings as they passed. It was then that Professor McGonagal re-entered the room, gathered them up, straightened Neville's robe for him and led them across the entrance hall into what had to be the Great Hall.

* * *

Being a hat isn't always as boring as some would believe, he considered as he looked out over the gathered students. As usual for before the sorting, they were chatting away with friends and housemates after a two-month vacation where most of them wrote or visited each other. He chuckled dryly to himself; again amazed at the human inclination of creating such strong bonds of love, like – even hate. He saw the same pattern re-created again and again over the last thousand-odd years; dependency on blood family breaking down into co-dependency on other children; each year creating the social structure that they would take with them out into the world.

All of it dependant on a decision he made. His amusement vanished like smoke as the worry over this matter returned to haunt him once again. Always fulfilling his function – as he was meant to, created to – but dividing their whole world into four distinct parts was wrong; and he _knew_ it wasn't what the founders, his creators, had meant to happen. Children were supposed to leave school behind, but it wasn't happening – their development so tied up in this place that it couldn't. _And look_, he thought bitterly, _here comes the new first years, and the cycle begins again_. As the new children came forward, and the hall quieted in respectful, watchful silence, waiting for his song, he decided that _this_ year would be different. Perhaps he _wasn't_ created to be the voice of the founders, but it was time someone spoke for them. That someone would just have to be him.

As they approached, the sorting hat – known to his fellow Hogwarts denizens as Bartholomule – looked over the newest first years he had to sort. He already knew all their names, as it was his job to run the Letter Room each year. Despite his misgivings over the matter, he admitted to himself that he was quite looking forward to this year's sort, as the castle herself hadn't been this excited in over a hundred and fifty years – the year Albus Dumbledore had been sorted. It was often like that, the castle seemed to be able to sense the potential of those passing through her walls. Not even the headmaster understood the complexity in the relationship between all the permanent magical inhabitants of Hogwarts that had developed over the last one thousand years – Saharal, the giant squid, had reported the auras of the children to Hogwarts who had passed the knowledge to Bartholomule, so he could take it into consideration when he sorted them. It was a delicate process, matching personalities in houses, balancing where and who each child would be most comfortable with against the founders wishes of certain personality requirements as well as where each gift would be best nurtured.

He sang his song as usual (Saharal had been very enthusiastic for Bartholomule to add his own contribution to the rhyme – eat myself, indeed! – and Hogwarts had been and would continue to chuckle randomly for months over the no-hand comment); thanking whatever deity looked over sentient hats (as he did every year) that Helga had been poetic and Rowena an avid reader, allowing those parts of his personality to make up the little ditties with relative ease each year. He was quite proud of the fact that in nearly one thousand years he had yet to repeat himself, despite what Hogwarts thought.

Finally he got them where he wanted them and started rifling through personalities and abilities and comparing their inherent skills according to Saharal's aura observations. This year the aquatic creature had been quite intrigued by three of the auras he'd scanned, and duly reported his observations. He watched closely as the first approached him, a girl-child who seemed quite reserved – and once he was immersed in her personality, measuring her abilities, he realized that she would be _exceptional_.

She was interesting, too; her mind racing with ideas and a thirst to KNOW and so intelligent she could rival Rowena – he briefly considered Ravenclaw – but it was overshadowed by other traits. She had acquired attachments that were not familial, and was intensely loyal to those that pierced her hearts' walls, just like Helga – but again he knew that Hufflepuff wasn't right. She was extremely brave and curious, the same way Godric had been; he could feel her desire to question him, to find out what he was doing, as well as the restraint that stopped her – and he seriously considered Gryffindoor, for she would do well there, though the self-control she exhibited wasn't typical of the Lions house. Ruling all these traits, however, was a cunning and ruthless ambition. Hermione Granger would do anything to be loved. Bartholomule hesitated; it would be hard for her, where she belonged, being a muggle-born, but… it was where she belonged.

"_Slytherin!_"

* * *

As they had with every new Slytherin, the table clapped for Hermione as she left the hat behind and walked over to her new house, her mind focused on the last thing the hat said to her as she had left the stool.

"…_it will be hard for you; as all great destinies are hard, and often cruel. There are those that will aid you to bear this burden… seek them out, though I have a feeling you have already found them_…"

* * *

Harry and Ron watched as their peers were sorted; Draco Malfoy was sorted into Slytherin just as he wanted, joining Hermione and the others already at the table. Susan Bones had been sorted into Hufflepuff, and Lisa was yet to be sorted. Finally Harry's name was called.

"Harry Potter!"

The kids around them looked around curiously, trying to figure out which one of them was the famous boy-who-lived. Harry calmly moved forward as whispers erupted around the hall. He kept a veneer of serenity on his face, ignoring the piercing glance the headmaster gave him and the curious looks of the older kids and the surprised faces of those he'd met on the train. He approached the stool with the sorting hat and sat down. The last thing he glimpsed as the hat slipped over his eyes were the friendly smiles of Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger.

* * *

The second child that had interested Saharal approached him with a calm maturity he'd rarely seen in an eleven-year-old; especially considering the sensation that surrounded him. Bartholomule of course knew the story behind Harry Potter, including all the frustration and guilt the headmaster had felt over the last few years in regards to his placing and safety. He'd observed many a conversation between the old headmaster and his predecessors – he hadn't been eavesdropping really; honestly, how was an old hat to sleep with that noise going on anyway? – and wondered, as had everyone, where the child had ended up. Well, if the boy felt like sharing, maybe he would find out.

Then the boy was sitting down and Bartholomule, as usual, was bracing himself for first contact with the chaotic mind of a child and found… order. No chaos. Bartholomule had never encountered such a well-organised mind before; it was unique. He saw magical pathways that were far more mature that any eleven-year-old should have, this was the mind of a magic-user that had been using magic for years.

Bartholomule blinked. Mentally. He tentatively reached out and announced his presence by touching the boy's mind. Usually the children he sorted couldn't distinguish his presence from their own thoughts until he actually spoke to them; their minds still forming and growing and learning and changing; but Bartholomule instinctively knew that this child would sense him. And he did.

* * *

Harry felt the foreign presence the moment it reached out to him. When it politely announced itself, Harry reached back and welcomed it.

He knew the other was called Bartholomule.

He knew Bartholomule was searching his personality and abilities for the best house to place him.

He knew Bartholomule had read his aura, and was interested in his and two others that had come to Hogwarts this year; auras he instinctively recognized as his two new friends.

He knew that Bartholomule had decided they should be kept together…

* * *

Bartholomule knew that the boy's name was Harry / Quicksilver / Freak / Brat.

He knew that Harry had an enormous amount of magical power, and knew how to wield it.

He knew that Quicksilver, the homeless boy, knew how to take care of himself.

He knew that Freak knew what it was like to be persecuted for being different.

He knew that Brat would fight to be free.

Above all, he knew that Harrison Potter would do anything to be safe.

"_Slytherin!"_

One final message was sent across. Contact was broken.

* * *

The Slytherin table erupted into cheers. The rest of the student population were mixed between disappointment – not having the famous Harry Potter in their house – and surprise – after all, not many Slytherins were trusted or respected.

Harry, for his part, was focused on his very interesting conversation with Bartholomule. He'd been mildly surprised that a hat had a name; but it thought, so why not? Harry had always liked the old saying "I think, therefore I am", and he supposed it applied rather appropriately here.

"_...it is time for you to be more than you ever have been before. Win their respect, and you'll do well..."_

* * *

Ron was almost alone when it came to his turn to be sorted. He was feeling very conflicted about which house he wanted to be in. On the one hand, all his family were Gryffindoors; he shuddered to think about what would happen if _he_ wasn't. On the other, Harry and Hermione were in Slytherin, and he already knew that both could be very important figures in his life.

His name was called.

"Ronald Weasley!"

His thoughts turned over at a furious rate, though you wouldn't know it to look at him. He didn't feel himself suited to Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff; for though he loved reading, it was for the escape it gave him, not for love of learning, and he'd never really had anyone to be loyal to before.

Gryffindoor or Slytherin…

Gryffindoor or Slytherin…

It wasn't like it was up to him, anyway.

Gryffindoor or Slytherin…

Gryffindoor or Slytherin…

But surely a child's comfort was considered when the hat made its decision? Where would he be comfortable?

He approached the stool.

As he sat down, his gaze went from his brothers – the twins' identical smirks and Percy's uncaring face – to his friends – Harry and Hermione paying attention to him, smiling encouragingly at him, their respect shining from their eyes – and his decision was made. Nothing else had allowed him to be accepted by his family, why would where he was sorted make a difference to them?

His internal debate was decided. Now he _did_ have someone to be loyal to.

Hopefully the hat agreed.

* * *

The last aura child –as Bartholomule had come to think of the three – approached him, and the hat could sense a conflict taking place within the young one as he walked towards him; right until he sat down. As the magical item was placed on the boy's red head and Bartholomule approached his mind, he was for the third time that day, surprised and impressed by the mind of a child.

Ronald Weasley was smart, yes; and he knew how to utilize this mental prowess. Unlike any other pure-blooded child, however, he could think – what was the muggle phrase? Oh, yes – "outside the box". His mind saw possibilities where others would see only dead ends; challenges where others would be stumped by problems. It was the mind of a strategist, and was already well-developed. The Raven house a brief thought, but the hat knew this wasn't the mind of a Ravenclaw.

No other child of two Gryffindoors would rather be placed in another house because his friends were there. While this ability to be loyal recommended him for Hufflepuff, Bartholomule knew it wasn't where the child belonged.

The courage it had taken the boy to live outside of the world of his parent and family, alone, was incredible. He had seen the muggle world as an opportunity, and embraced it. Still, Bartholomule knew the reckless house was not for this boy – his bravery tempered by consideration.

Ronald showed more than smarts, and loyalty, and courage – he was, above all, cunning and thoughtful in his decisions; and had an ambition rivalled only by his two new friends. Ronald Weasley would do anything to be accepted.

There was, truly, only once place for him. Bartholomule was glad, because having seen the similarities between his aura children, he knew it would be best for them to be together; and though he was sure being in different houses wouldn't stop the friendship from developing, he knew it would be easier for all three to be house-mates.

Decision made.

"Slytherin!"

He whispered to the boy's mind before leaving.

* * *

Ron was relieved when the hat called out his house name, and moved confidently to sit with his new housemates. The cheer for him joining them wasn't as exuberant as the one for Harry, and there had been a stunned you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me moment before it began, but it was clear that he was accepted like everyone else had been.

As he sat down, his thoughts were only half on what was happening around him; he was considering the last thing the hat had whispered to him before he'd left the stool.

"_...you have a place and a destiny here. Forge bonds that are stronger than family; and they will last through eternity..."_

* * *

The sorting was done. Over for another year; and for the first time in a long time, Bartholomule was comfortable about the decisions he'd made. He knew this batch of first-years would be different, more like when the founders first created the houses, and hoped it would set a new trend for the future of their world. He next turned his attention to another of his duties: sending on his observations to Hogwarts on the students to help her decide where to room everyone. Though most would believe that the teachers decided where their students lived for the seven years of their schooling, it was in fact the job of Hogwarts herself to assign rooms.

Hufflepuffs lived spread out on the same floor with many nooks and crannies for studying and small groups of friends to meet in private; and small den-like rooms. Though loyal and hardworking, like their badger mascot they also enjoyed their solitude.

Gryffindoors lived – literally – on top of each other, as their dormitories were crammed together in one of the towers. They roomed together by year and sex, and had a large communal study/social area; and had no problem piling together just like a pride of lions. It was possible that Godric also believed his students mated in the same way, as there was a very effective spell to stop boys going into girls rooms, but no limitation on girls visiting the boys dorms.

The house of Ravenclaw was located next to and above the Library, with a private entrance to and from the study area of their common room – one that every Ravenclaw made sure was kept secret from Madam Pince. One side of the common room was set aside for studying, with private study desks as well as group study tables. The entire house's population could fit in this area. The other half had easy chairs for curling up in to read a good book or have a friendly conversation. The sleeping rooms were located on the next floor up, and each room was shared between seven people – one student from every year, where possible.

Slytherin was spread out on several different levels of the dungeons, with large, luxurious bedrooms and several common rooms hidden throughout the labyrinth. It was a little known fact that Salazar wasn't as caring about propriety as the other founders; he believed in teaching his snakes discretion, instead of abstinence, and so both male and female rooms by year were in the same corridor. Of course, there were security measures – one couldn't enter another's room without the expressed, un-forced invitation of one of the residents – that made the silly little stair charm Godric had cooked up look like a fun ride… although, Godric did always enjoy the humiliation of his students as punishments, rather than the more serious consequences Slytherin's apprentices would incur – should they be caught. The snake children usually shared two to a room, each year having their own corridor and a small social room to themselves. The larger common room was usually used for when you wanted to be seen.

Bartholomule kept his most unusual idea for last, feeling Hogwarts' amusement at his reluctance and then feeling surprised when she agreed immediately. He settled into himself with satisfaction. Another year done. Time for a sleep.

* * *

Harry observed the hall from his new place at the Slytherin table. He first observed the other students in the room. The Longbottom boy had been sorted into Gryffindoor, and he also spotted Ron's three brothers among the Lions, along with the older boy – Oliver Wood – that had sent Ron's twin brothers on their way on the train. After that he noticed again that the rather precocious girl, Susan Bones, had been sorted into Hufflepuff – which she seemed very happy about – and saw that the quiet girl, Lisa Turpin, was now a Ravenclaw.

Harry turned his attention to the students of his own new house; they were largely ignoring Ron, Hermione and himself, with the few exceptions that were throwing them looks every now and then, the younger students with frank curiosity and in some cases animosity; the older ones peering at them subtly from behind inscrutable masks. Draco Malfoy was the most often offender; shooting him looks of betrayal and wounded pride. Harry wasn't sure what that was about. The boy was sitting next to the Slytherin house ghost, The Bloody Baron, and was also looking very displeased about it and somewhat green about the gills at times.

The ghost was watching the newest Slytherins, and in his eyes behind his mask of indifference danced with a very well concealed sense of mischief. When the ghost looked at him, Harry met his gaze head on. The Baron seemed to be impressed and Harry quirked a very small smile.

He then looked up at the teachers table. He recognized Hagrid, of course; and Professor McGonagall, as well as Professor Quirrel from his day school shopping in Diagon Alley and Professor Dumbledore from his chocolate frog card Ron had unwrapped on the train. The old headmaster looked just as fantastic in life as he did in his picture. Also sitting at the head table were all the other professors of Hogwarts. As Harry studied each face, he met the eyes of a pale, dark-haired man with obsidian eyes. A sharp pain flared through his forehead and Harry instinctually flinched and broke contact. As he was doing so, he overheard another first year's conversation.

"Who's that beside Professor Snape? The one with the turban? He doesn't look like much," the pale, dark-haired boy with ice-blue eyes asked one of the prefects. The older student went on to explain that it was probably the newest Defence teacher, who would be introduced later; and told the fascinated first years all about the curse on the position.

"Snape wants the Defense position of course, but he's a brilliant Potions Master, Slytherin's head of house, too; anyone who studies NEWT's under him gets the highest scores in all of Europe. Of course that's probably because there's a rumour that if they don't, Snape will use them as ingredients in illegal dark potions…"

Harry turned out of the conversation after that, reasonable sure of his deduction that the dark professor was Potions Master Snape, as the teacher on the other side of Quirrel was a spacy-looking woman who kept glancing at the stars on the enchanted ceiling and muttering to herself. Harry found out later that she was Professor Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher.

Very soon the rich food disappeared – Harry hadn't been able to stomach a lot of it, and hoped there would be simpler foods at regular meals – and Headmaster Dumbledore rose to make a speech which had Harry's eyebrows creeping higher and higher as the man spoke, and relaxing down into a frown and his brain racing when they received the deadly warning about the third-floor corridor. Once the old man dismissed them – after the most ridiculous and painful musical experience Harry had ever had – Harry got up and, along with all the other newly sorted first year Slytherins, followed along behind a prefect to find his home for the best part of the next seven years…

* * *

The newly sorted Slytherin first years followed after the fifth year prefects deep into the bowels of the castle. The further down they got, the darker and, perversely, the safer they felt. Hogwarts was very strong here, her magic grounded by and bonded with the very earth itself. Should the rest of Hogwarts fall, it was likely that the foundations – and dungeons – would remain undamaged; and the children could sense it. They reached a section of the wall that didn't really stand out at all, save for the faint etching of a snake that was pointed out to them where the wall met the roof and was barely noticeable. The prefect spoke the password "fastosus progenies" (6) and they stepped into a room that would become a central part o their lives through their Hogwarts career.

Harry, Ron and Hermione looked around with well-disguised interest. It was a long room, clearly underground, likely dug out with magic and shored up with rough stone that comprised the walls and ceiling; the latter of which was quite low. The darkness was kept at bay with green-tinged lamps hanging from the stone ceiling, attached by chains. Directly ahead of them was an elaborately carved mantelpiece, decorated subtly with snakes; that had a cheery fire crackling in the grate. It was surrounded by comfortable, ornately carved chairs. Although the atmosphere spoke of kept secrets, it was at the same time, peaceful and welcoming. To the left of the fire at the end of the room were groups of tables obviously set up for studying; while the right end of the room was dominated by seven doors; it was here they were led. Each door was marked by a year title, and a name. The third door on the left was labeled "_First Years: Wadjits_" (7). The door on the left of theirs was labeled _seventh years (Ashwinders)_ and the door on the right read _second years (Runespoors)_. Each class was named after a breed of snake, just like them.

Once they opened the door, the hallway inside twisted to the left in a u-turn and sloped dramatically downwards. It opened into a smaller, cosier version of the main common room, obviously a place for the first years to socialize, and then opened into another corridor. It became a narrow, barely lit hallway that stretched into darkness. The first years walked down the passageway, until they reached a door. It was on their left and read _Vincent Crabbe_ and _Gregory Goyle_. The boys opened their door and disappeared into their room. The next door was on the right and read _Millicent Bulstrode_ and _Daphne Greengrass_. The two girls went inside, and the rest of the first years continued down the hallway. The next door was again on the left; and read _Theodore Nott_ and _Blaise Zambini_. The two boys also entered their room. Moving further down the corroder, the next door they found was again on the right, and had _Pansy Parkinson_ and _Tracey Davies_ signed on it. The girls looked at each other and vanished into their room. There were now only four first years left. They kept going down the hall. Again a door appeared on the left, and had only one name written on it. _Draco Malfoy_; the boy looked very pleased and went into his single room.

The trio looked at each other and continued down the corridor. They walked a fair way until they came to a door in the end of the hallway. It read _Ronald Weasley_, _Hermione Granger_, and _Harrison Potter_. The three looked at each other, rather surprised, but entered non-the-less.

When the trio entered the room, they were pleasantly surprised. It was a large room with a very open floor plan; directly to their left was a huge study table with a bookcase built into the wall next to the door. It surrounded a small kettle fireplace that was radiating warmth. To their right was another kettle fire about the same size, with the same shelves built into the wall surrounding it; in front of this fire were three comfortable, green squishy armchairs with side tables in between each. This was all on the same level as the door, in an arch-shape with a polished wooden floor.

Surrounding this area was a raised floor of the rest of the room. Spaced along the back wall were three large four-poster beds. Their curtains were all cream, with green bed-spreads and cream sheets and green and cream pillows. Each bed cover had a rather nice design on it, too. The left-hand bed had a fierce dragon embroided in silver; the middle bed had a fiery Phoenix, also in silver; the right-hand bed had a wood nymph again in silver thread. The carpet in the raised area was the same green as their beds and when they stepped onto it, their feet sank into it. Each bed had a bedside table on either side and was separated from its neighbour by lattice work to give each area privacy. When they turned to face the entrance, they noticed two more doors on either side of each fireplace, on the raised section of floor. Investigating these, they found one wardrobe/bathroom predominately decorated in cream with green highlights, and the other exactly the same decorated in an opposite manner. Their luggage was in the room and unpacked, their trunks stored at the end of a bed.

They each slipped into their pyjamas after a quick shower, the atmosphere already comfortable, almost as though they had known each other and lived together for years. Each snuggled down into their comfortable bed in satisfaction – Ron guarded by the fierce dragon, Harry protected by the eternal phoenix, and Hermione cosseted under the gentle wood nymph. Classes would start tomorrow, and all three fell asleep wondering what they would be like…

* * *

The Hogwarts staff room was usually filled with chatter as the teachers used the time away from their students each day after dinner as a way to de-stress as much as possible. Of course, each had their own specific habits they were partial too, as well. Sybil Trelawny, the Divination teacher, enjoyed the more than odd glass of sherry; Severus Snape, potions master, swept up and down the corroders at night, attempting to give the students a complex; and Minerva McGonagal, the transfiguration professor and deputy head, would slip into her feline form – her animagus form was a tabby cat – and prowl around the classrooms, chasing mice and, on occasion, stalking her colleague the potions professor. He deserved it, really!

Tonight though, the usually busy room seemed to be rather still. The magical professors were all looking at each other, in what appeared to be shock. After all – a muggle-born Slytherin, bad enough; a muggle-raised Potter – unlikely but still plausible... but _Ronald Weasley_ a Slytherin?

Minerva mused on the likely hood of all three going into Slytherin in the same year, and had to conclude, it was incredibly… unlikely. Not to mention _shocking_. No wonder they were all sitting around in a stupor. Suddenly she snorted, it was shockingly loud in the almost silent room, and said in a brisk, no-nonsense voice, "look at us! Sitting around as though the world had stopped turning, simply because something unexpected happened. Honestly!"

And the tension was broken. Filius Flickwick the charms master and Pomona Sprout the herbology professor broke into exited conversation about the Potter and Weasley parents, and Minerva remembered the very put-together and mature Hermione she had escorted – without parents – around Diagon Alley. Severus beat a hasty retreat, no doubt heading to his quarters for a good stiff drink after suffering such 'stress' and 'shock', she thought with disapproval and disdain, and she decided to join her colleagues in their conversation.

* * *

Harry tossed and turned. He was dreaming… about Professor Quirrel. Well, his turban actually. It was trying to get inside his mind, but Harry kept forcing it out. It was an evil thing, that turban, and it kept whispering to him… _let me in. You know you want too… we'll be great together, you and I…_ but Harry resisted. He knew it was important – even in his dream – that he not let it in. When it couldn't win, instead it started to unravel, reaching out to choke him –

– and Harry woke up, gasping for breath, scrabbling at his throat in an attempt to make it let him go… and realized it was a dream. Harry felt relief surge through him; and he lay back down and fell back to sleep without even realizing it, sleeping the night through and mostly forgetting about the troublesome dream…

* * *

The man was old, extremely so, though it would be hard to guess at his exact age. His white hair was rather unkempt, the skin of his face was almost albino white and marked with age, and his strange, silvery eyes remained unblinking for long periods of time. He walked with a stoop, his shoulders rounded from hunching them so often as he worked his trade, and his messy clothes had seen better days and needed desperately the work of an experienced needle.

His odd eyes seemed to focus to laser beam intensity as he reviewed three separate events in his pensieve. Once he'd reviewed every detail, Ollivander produced a vial from his pocket. It was obviously old, and seemed to have been handled again and again over countless years. Carefully tipping the enclosed memory into the pensieve with the other three, Ollivander once again viewed the remarkable events that had occurred nearly – he frowned, and calculated – no, _exactly_ one hundred years ago…

…**Memory…**

_He'd been young when he arrived in this place… far younger than most other members of his dying race were when they left their homes to explore their multi-verse. He'd found he had a talent for wand construction, and when his home and people had descended into war, he'd decided to stay. He'd taken the name _Ollivander_, and had kept it so long that he'd forgotten what he used to be called. Over the years, the duty of crafting of magical foci had set heavily on his shoulders, and he was almost single-handedly responsible for the evolution of the standards set by wand makers all over the magical world. He was jarred from his thoughts by the ominous sound of glass breaking from his storeroom. He sighed in frustration; in all his years pretending to be human, he had yet to meet a more annoying sample of the primitive species. The boy had to be the most clumsy, bumbling incompetent he'd ever _met_, let alone taken as an apprentice. _

"_What was I thinking? That brat will never amount to anything…" he mumbled to himself as he went to inspect the damage wrought by the red-haired hellion in his shop. He quickly took stock of the room, spying the damage immediately, and inspected the guilty party as he shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "Albus Dumbledore! Those _were_ my collection of highly expensive focusing crystals! What do you have to say for yourself?" he finally demanded (8)._

"_Ah… well. It's a funny story, Mr. Ollivander…" the brat started to explain, but Ollivander had heard enough tales for the day – week – _year_. _

"_Never mind," he interrupted with a sigh. _Just get through this year, then you can foist him off onto someone else_, he cheered himself on. He willingly ignored that it was only March, and he had quite a while to go until November, when by law he could hand the first-year apprentice on to someone else. _Damn me for writing that into the code_, he chided himself. _I_ knew _it would come back to me one day and bite me in the_ – _

_His thoughts were interrupted – probably a good thing, considering where they were going – by his contrite apprentice. "I'll clean it up, Mr. Ollivander. I'm sure some are salvageable," the eager words were accompanied by an earnest expression; and Ollivander softened. _

How does he do that?_ He wondered, but sighed and answered, "very well, Albus. Be more careful in future, or I'll start docking your pay for the damages you're causing me, are we clear?" The boy nodded enthusiastically. "Good. Once you're done, leave for the day. I'm in the middle of a delicate process right now and I don't want to be disturbed."_

"_Yes sir. Sir?"_

_Ollivander sighed again. "Yes?" _I'm going to regret asking…

"_I really am sorry, sir. Here, I brought you these. Perhaps they'll make up for the crystals?"_

_Ollivander doubted it, but looked at the offering in any case. And promptly did a double-take. "Where did you get these?" he breathed, taking from his apprentice two very fine specimens._

"_I… bonded with a phoenix. He's my familiar. He allowed me two of his tail-feathers. I wanted to do something for you. I know I'm a lot of trouble, and I wanted to thank you," Albus, for such a strong-willed, popular boy, could be quite shy at times._

"_Thank you, Albus. I shall indeed take very good care of these… in fact, yes, I'll use one tonight. Come, you may observe if you are very careful," Ollivander offered._

_Albus brightened. He quickly nodded, followed his master into the work-room and vowed to sit quietly in a corner and not move, lest he be expelled from the room._

_Ollivander went over to his work-bench. Sitting there were three wands, in various different states of construction. He'd been inspired to create something special a few months ago, and had been working on these in his spare time, to get them absolutely right. He'd been dithering over the core of the last wand, but now he would use one of the phoenix feathers his apprentice had procured him. The wands were at a delicate stage in production, and would require one hundred percent concentration to finish the way he wanted them to…_

_After three hours of intense concentration, and nary a peep out of his apprentice (something he was afraid might be signifying the end of the multi-verse), he'd finally finished his three master-pieces. He'd watch carefully who would be destined for these wands. _

_The first was crafted from ash wood with a hair from a rare golden-maned unicorn for a core, beautifully designed with various carvings – the best he'd ever done – on the handle of strong magical creatures – dragons and unicorns and such – though it remained quite masculine. _

_The second was crafted from vine wood, with a Dragon Heartstring core, from a dragon the likes of which Ollivander had never seen before and, though he didn't know it, wouldn't see again – it had been dying when he'd come across it and had actually _spoken_ to him; giving him permission to harvest from its remains and when he had, he'd found it had had only half a heart – and the final product had turned out to be rather delicate-looking with its carvings of a nymph surrounded by plants and flowers and a slim-line handle – deceptively so. This was a very strong wand, and would need someone with strength of will to wield it. _

_The third and last had, of course, a phoenix feather core, and was crafted from holly. Again, the carvings of beautiful flying magical beasts on the handle – phoenix and Pegasus and other ancient things of legend – was extremely good; though like the first it remained masculine and like the second seemed almost delicate, but it was the most powerful wand he'd ever created._

_The second feather he put aside, absently deciding it would be a good core for that yew wand he had started yesterday. He sighed in satisfaction – and then he felt it. The wands were… activating. _That's impossible,_ he thought in surprise. _They can only do this when a wizard channels their magic through it… what is going on?

_Both master and apprentice watched in wonder as the three wands glowed with power, the tendrils of it seeming to weave together; and as they watched, ancient symbols were emblazed in a line up the side of each wand from handle to tip. The power blazed once more before dimming, leaving the three wands lying innocently still, as though they hadn't just defied every magical theory known to wizard-kind._

"_Master, what… have you ever seen anything like that before?" Albus asked quietly, showing surprising insight into in his question, Ollivander thought absently, maybe there was hope for him yet, as he studied the foci lying on his work-table with his _cyte_. His natural ability to _see_ the way the different parts of the wands flowed together into harmony was a most valuable asset to his craft; and right now it was showing him something he'd never seen before…_

"_They've bonded…" he whispered in awe._

_Yes, indeed, he would have to watch where these particular wands ended up most carefully…_

…**End Memory…**

Ollivander pondered. Should he tell anyone about this? In particular, should he inform Albus Dumbledore? No, he decided, he'd already given Dumbledore one favour this year; he still wasn't sure he should have told the old headmaster about the brother wand being sold to young Harry Potter. Perhaps, in a few years, he would tell the children themselves? Yes. He would see how events played out. After all, it was the sworn duty of a wand crafter to send wands out into the world – not to interfere in how they were used.

_A/N: From internet troubles, to writer's block; hospital visits and sheer laziness to the occasional burst of dedication and brilliance: I give you the fourth chapter of Tarnished!_

_1) Weasley conversation from pages 72 and 73 of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone; (altered to fix the facts of the story, of course) absolutely inspired – especially the toilet seat!_

_2) Fictional characters made up by me – I have no idea who "invented" floo powder or though up the floo system according to JKR, but figured it would be funny if it had been named after someone called "Floo"._

_3) Gringotts Newsclipping from page 105 of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (actually they're already at Hogwarts and into the school year when this article is printed in cannon)._

_(4) I have decided in my version of Harry Potter's Universe, pets and familiars are very different. Pets of course are kept by people as companions; familiars are bonded to a wizard's magical core and aid in certain magical practices. Depending on a wizards (or witch's) power one can be bonded to highly magical creatures (such as Dumbledore and Fawkes) or more than one creature (such as Harry with his owl and cat)._

_(5) Obviously I don't know how old Oliver Wood was when he became Quidditch captain, but in this universe it was fourth or fifth year. Although he and Cedric are a couple of years apart, and in different houses, I figure all the really nutty Quidditch people would know each other._

_(6) Pride/proud lineage_

_(7) Wadjit (spelled other ways as well) was an Ancient Egyptian goddess in the form of a winged snake. Though I couldn't find any species in the Harry Potter universe based on this legend, I decided to put it in. So a Wadjit is a magical species of snake with wings that was worshiped in Ancient Egypt._

_(8) According to HP Lexicon, Albus Dumbledore is in fact only 99/100 years old when Harry is born, making him about 110 when the trio attend Hogwarts. In this universe he's a little bit older. At this point in time, Albus is about 19 to 20 years old. He's done a few things after graduating from Hogwarts, bonded with Fawkes for one, and is now trying his hand at wand making. I figured that even Albus Dumbledore had to be young and awkward at some point in his life! Ollivander calls him boy because even though 17 is the legal age in the wizarding world, older people (and in this Ollivander is already centuries old, if not millennium) often call young people this until they're about 25. Also it conveys the sense I wanted that Albus is young at this point in his life, not really experienced or matured at all yet. Oh, all this makes him approx. 10 years older than cannon.  
_

_A/N: I sincerely apologise for the sheer amount of time this chapter has taken. I truly hope it is up to everyone's expectations! There are some things in this chapter that I wasn't happy with, and still aren't, but I couldn't keep it hanging around on my computer (which isn't dead! Hooray!) any longer. Hope you enjoy!_


	10. Interlude 5: Ron

_Disclaimer: I do not own the concept and characters of Harry Potter. Please enjoy the next installement of Ron's youth!_

* * *

**Interlude**

**Ron, Age 4**

Ron lay in the old bed in his small room squashed right up under the roof of the Burrow, where he and his family lived, fuming. It just – wasn't – FAIR! And considering his rather lowered standards as to what constituted fair in his short life, it is pretty certain his circumstances were far more than just unfair, but Ron was not usually given to complaints.

This, however, involved a small – though cuddly – plain brown teddy bear by the auspicious name of Mr. Tig.

The gifting of Mr. Tig hadn't been elaborate at all; it had arrived in a plainly wrapped package fastened to a Hogwarts school owl – a snooty creature with the number twenty-two attached to a small tag on its leg – late in the afternoon on Christmas day a little over three months ago. Charlie hadn't returned to the Burrow for Christmas, but inside the package Ron had found the little teddy bear, the kind that popped out of expensive magical Christmas crackers, with what he recognized as his and Charlie's names and a brightly drawn present on a note.

It had been the first thing Ron ever owned that was solely his, and didn't belong to anybody before him. He'd christened it Mr. Tig.

Ron treasure Mr. Tig, carried the bear with him nearly everywhere; which was the reason behind Ron's current bad temper.

Usually the twins used their pranks to torment Percy, or to making Ginny laugh, or attempting to get one over on Molly Weasley, their mother – which they had yet to do, but perfection was to be strived for – and kept their sights off their younger brother. This state of affairs had always suited Ron before, who – though lonely – enjoyed watching his family interact as though he had been peering into their world as though from the outside of a fishbowl.

He had recognized the devilish look on their faces, though their target had taken him by surprise, having never been a victim himself; though he might have expected it sooner or later. Thankfully he had taken steps to remove himself from the situation, and so when Mr. Tig had transformed into a rather large and scary-looking spider he hadn't been holding him. But it had made Ginny cry, and Percy shout for their mother in glee, and Molly Weasley had turned red with anger and undone the transformation and proceeded to alternate between yelling at her errant sons and comforting her distraught daughter.

The distraction had served Ron well as he liberated both Mr. Tig and something else he would find rather useful from the situation. Later, when Arthur Weasley returned home, the twins were sentenced to three weeks grounding (completing all the house-hold chores during that time) for using and losing Great-Uncle Fabien's wand. Although there was nothing that could get them off on the first charge, they vehemently denied the second, but Great-Uncle Fabien's wand was gone, and was never found.

And though the prank completely misfired, and the twins rather severely punished, Ron did not feel inclined to forgive them any time soon, and was not looking forward to repeat performances. Perhaps it would be better if he found somewhere else to spend his days, working on his reading… somewhere outside where he couldn't be targeted.

It would also give him somewhere private to experiment with his newest acquisition. Ron's hand tightened around Great-Uncle Fabien's wand; after all, he couldn't be caught using it…

* * *

_A/N: Can't you just see Percy calling for his mum in satisfaction, knowing how much trouble the twins will be in for making precious little Ginny cry? Hope you all liked!_


	11. Chapter Five: Curiosity Killed The Cat

_Disclaimer: I do not own the concept and characters of Harry Potter. A/N: SHE LIVES! This chapter has been kicking my keister for over a year. But I have triumphed! ...maybe. Tell me what you think – have I won?_

* * *

**Chapter Five**

**Curiosity Killed The Cat...**

Lessons started with no consideration for students still wishing it was the holidays. The older years were already facing the reality of future-defining exams; the younger years bemoaning the amount of homework most teachers were piling on them.

The first years had their own troubles. Learning to compose essays and how to research an answer properly and stretch as little information as possible into as large a space as possible, and working on their handwriting and, for some, learning to write with a quill on parchment. Hermione had the opposite problem, having to learn to keep her answers concise and to the point. She was sure it was a conspiracy against over-ambitious students; maybe Ron and Harry would look into it with her... well, maybe not.

That was if – and sometimes it was a big _if_ – they could find their classes in the first place. Hogwarts was a veritable maze, with corroders twisting and turning and sometimes even deciding to go in circles every now and then for a while. The first time the trio was walking up a set of stone stairs that decided to go for a wander they were nearly late to class... _after_ they got over the shock of being deposited three corridors away from where they were heading. There were doors that liked hiding and walls that liked to pretend to be doors, and staircases that went a different place on Fridays, and the invisible step caught every first year at least once. The portraits were no help as landmarks as they liked to visit each other in their frames, and if Harry were as immature as the other first years, he wouldn't have allowed Ron and Hermione to talk him out of keeping the suits of armour under surveillance – as they didn't seem to be stationary either, moving whenever they fancied; and he'd wanted to catch them at it.

Some of the ghosts could be counted on to help out, but most didn't seem to be bothered much about anything in the living world. Peeves, of course, was a completely different matter.

Harry, Ron and Hermione met Peeves on their first day of classes before breakfast when they caught him attempting to cover the stairs out of the dungeons in some type of slime. After the encounter neither ghost nor first years were very impressed with each other, and Ron was sure that an eternity-long rivalry was about to commence – as soon as he convinced his friends that the poltergeist was worth the trouble. He didn't think it would take much.

Their classes were, while interesting, not overly challenging, at least in the opinion of three of the new first years. Probably the most interesting thing that happened during the first week of their classes was the extra attendee that most hadn't counted on. Pasht had been shut inside their dormitory when they left for breakfast on the first day; but she turned up outside their first class waiting to enter just like the first years. Harry had looked at her in bemusement, and turned to his friends for advice.

Hermione frowned. She didn't think the teacher would accept the animal in the classroom, but... "We don't have time to take her back now," she said, and the boys agreed. They had entered and sat in the back with Pasht perched pertly on Harry's desk, watching the teacher with bright eyes.

Most of the first years had noticed their extra classmate, but they didn't have time to say anything before the class started. The class had run over, and they all had to rush to get to the next one. Pasht tagged right along.

The reactions of the different professors had been interesting. Professor Sprout, their Herbology teacher and Professor Flitwick who taught Charms both thought she was beautiful, and welcomed her in their classrooms.

Binns, their History teacher and the only professor they had that was, well... bodily deficient, didn't even notice the feline and the Transfiguration professor, McGonagall – surprisingly – had taken one look at her and pretended to ignore her. The teacher's eyes could be seen though, now and then, straying to where the animal had settled; and it became common practice for her to spend several minutes during a lecture absent-mindedly petting the kitten. For this reason, and because it was the most challenging subject they studied, it became the only class the trio sat in the front.

Professor Sinistra was violently allergic to cats, and the first time Pasht attempted to join their midnight Astronomy class she was nearly thrown over the edge of the tower they studied on. The cat didn't even attempt to _enter_ the Potions classroom – not being at all impressed with Professor Snape – and the one time she attended Defence, she'd taken one whiff of Professor Quirrell's turban and left the room as though she'd been personally offended.

The trio quickly learned to follow Pasht to their classes, and they were never lost again. How she knew where to go and what classroom they were meant to be in was anybody's guess, but none of the three canny first-years were going to question their good fortune.

Every morning at breakfast, hundreds of owls would swoop into the great hall, delivering post or just simply to say good morning to their owners. Michael-Angelo, Isabella, and Hedwig would often visit their owners to say hello; though they were rarely carrying mail.

On Friday morning, however, Hedwig arrived with a rough note full of messy writing.

_Dear Harry, _

_I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig._

_Hagrid. __(1)_

Harry grinned and quickly dashed a response, which Hedwig flew off with.

"What was that about?" Hermione asked inquisitively.

"Hagrid invited me for tea this afternoon. Would you like to come?" he invited his two companions. They looked at each other.

"Sure, that'd be great, Harry," Ron answered as Hermione smiled and nodded.

"We have potions today, right?" Harry changed the subject.

"Yes, and we should get there. I don't think Snape's reputation for favouring Slytherins will extend to those that are tardy," Ron quirked a smile – something that was becoming a far more regular occurrence for all three of them – and they quickly rose from the table and made their way into the dungeons.

* * *

Severus Excelsior Snape _despised_ first years. He hated the way they looked around with eyes too big for their faces, and he couldn't _stand_ the fact they were all so small, and their incompetence left a sour taste in his mouth. It should be noted, perhaps, that Severus did in fact hate _all_ children – and oh! how he hated pandering to any of them, even his Slytherins – but he absolutely abhorred _first years_.

He especially hated the first-years first potions class. Of the two he taught each year – _each year!_ What _had_ he done to deserve it? – it was the Slytherin/Gryffindor class he reviled the most, and was the absolute worst. Of course, this particular first, first-year, Slytherin/Gryffindor class also contained something he hated perhaps _more_ than children – why had he _ever_ let Albus talk him into it? Azkaban wasn't that bad, surely? He could endure the torture leaving the proximity of Dumbledore would incur, should the Dark Lord ever return, couldn't he? – a _Potter_. A _Slytherin_ Potter, no less.

Severus scowled at the bright chatter the brats were indulging in, in _his_ classroom. Time to dissuade yet another generation of the notion that he was, in any way, _nice_.

* * *

Severus couldn't help it – he gaped. Of course, the moment he realized this, he stopped; and would never admit to it having happened, even under threat of torture and death – but he did gape.

His first, first-years Slytherin/Gryffindor potions class had gone just as they had every other year. He'd had them silent, still and quaking in their annoying children-sized school shoes within thirty seconds of opening his sarcastic, insult-ridden mouth. He'd then jumped – almost literally – on some hapless first year (he'd taken great pleasure in choosing Potter for this yearly ritual) and proceeded to attempt to humiliate the child. By the time he was finished, usually his victim was close to, if not in, tears; and was jumpy around him for the rest of their Hogwarts career. When he'd finished this time, however, he'd had to admit to himself he'd failed.

"Potter! What would I get if I added powdered rood of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" the boy had started to open his mouth, but Severus hadn't allowed him time to answer, _not that he could_, he thought, and went onto the next question he'd decided on for this year's list. "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar, and why would I need one?" the boy looked at him blankly, and he smirked maliciously, purposely ignoring the tentative hands in the air across the room. His attention remained solely on his victim. "No? Well how about this: what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" Again, the boy gave no response; save to fix an implacable gaze upon him. Severus had the queerest sensation that he'd lost in some way, and so he scowled again (it was his favourite expression, and he took great care to maintain it whenever possible) and decided to punish the whole class for it.

"Since it's doubtful none of you even cracked open your text books before arriving here," _lazy brats_, he thought furiously, _I'm not giving them the answer this time!_ "and because I've got no doubt in my mind that none of you could answer my questions, anyway, I expect a twelve inch essay for each question, explaining the answer; due next Friday," he finished in satisfaction. _Ha! Let's see the mess they make of that one!_ After he'd finished doing a victory dance in his head – again, he wouldn't ever admit it, or the thought that accompanied it: _one to me, brats: ZERO! – _he told them to work in pairs and put the recipe for a simple – _mmph. Like they'll even stir themselves to try_ – boil-curing potion.

_Of course_, he thought in despair, as he glanced up the back, _sometimes I give these simple-minded baboons too much credit_. Most of his Slytherins had taken seats down the front – _brownnosers_ – bar the three that were along the back bench of the classroom. In latter years it would come to be known as _theirs_, but right now it was annoying him, as there was _three_ children seated at the bench instead of _two_, which is the only way he knew to interpret the word '_pairs'_. He huffed in irritation. Yes, far too much credit.

He strode towards them, just as Potter was gathering up his belongings to move to a different seat, but Severus stopped him. "Too important to sit near the rest of us mere mortals, Potter?" he sneered softly – they were Slytherins after all; it wouldn't do to appear anything but doting in front of the other houses – "You can do this assignment alone, Potter... in fact, it would benefit all of you," he continued spitefully, hoping he might rid Potter of the only friends he'd deigned to make. "Spread out and each complete the assignment separately," he instructed. They didn't question him, as he'd expected; barely even hesitated in fact, and he sneered at them again and left to sort out the other pairs – leaving poor Neville Longbottom of Gryffindor at the mercy of the vindictive Theodore Nott – not that he _cared_ at all; it was quite amusing.

He saw disaster coming before it happened, of course, and could have prevented it; that was one of the reasons he stalked around the classroom like a giant bat (he'd heard the description half-way though his first year teaching and happily took great measures to ensure the likeness ever since. Also a secret he'd take to his grave, especially as he used some theatrical spells to ensure success) – the other reason being to terrifying them out of their minds, obviously – he'd simply chosen not to act. Pain was a very effective teaching tool in his opinion.

Unfortunately the three troublemakers in the back were too far away to blame for the incident, so he contented himself with allowing the child to suffer while he tore verbal strips off him, took twenty points from Gryffindor in satisfaction, and then instructed the boy to go to the hospital wing.

Finally, the torture had ended – how did he endure it? – and the brats were packed up, cleaned up, and walking out his door. He allowed himself to breathe a metaphorical sigh of relief as he watched the last child leave the room. It was Potter, of course. _Lazy_.

Naturally, before he did leave, he left Severus in his aforementioned state of _huh?_ and forced him to stop himself _gaping_ of all things.

The child had very quietly, but firmly, stated:

"Asphodel and wormwood make a powerful sleeping potion called the _Draught of Living Death_. A bezoar is a stone that will save you from most poisons, and is taken from the stomach of a goat. Monkshood and Wolfsbane are the same plant; it also goes by the names Aconite, Auld Wife's Huid, Blue Rocket and Friar's Cap; it's a genus flower that belongs to the buttercup family. I believe there are over two-hundred and fifty species world-wide(2)."

And then he left. Severus scowled. _Brat_.

* * *

That afternoon Ron, Hermione and Harry headed for Hagrid's cabin, which was out on the grounds not far from the Forbidden Forest. Pasht pranced regally in front of them, leading the way, and the three children discussed their potion masters... _unique_ teaching method.

"Is it just me, or was that a little – strange?" Harry asked his friends. "I thought everyone said that Snape pandered to Slytherin house because he's our head?"

"Maybe he's the type of teacher that needs to establish dominance over his students by ridiculing them," Hermione suggested, her brow creased in thought.

"All my brothers complain about Snape – how he only ever picks on Gryffindoors, and likes scaring Hufflepuffs, and stressing out Ravenclaws by never giving them full marks. They always said he never does anything to punish Slytherins – at least not where anyone can see – and that he always takes their side. I don't know... it _was_ strange. He seemed to have it in for you, Harry," Ron observed.

"A lot of teachers like to pick on their students, Ron," Hermione replied to his thought. "Maybe we should see if it's just Harry that he seems to – umm," she faltered trying to think of a diplomatic way to describe the teacher's attitude.

"Despise?" Harry offered.

"Loathe?" Ron contributed.

"Disparage," Hermione answered firmly.

"Did either of you notice how he practically whispered about us doing the assignment separately? Like he didn't want anyone to know he was making the class harder for us?" Ron said. "That's what makes me think it was personal. He doesn't allow anyone to see him _disparaging _Slytherins, but he couldn't stop himself doing it anyway."

"Ron's got a point there, Hermione," Harry commented as they arrived at Hagrid's cabin.

"I suppose," she conceded, and the three of them looked up... and up... _and up_ at their destination.

It was circular, with a thatched roof, and would have looked like a charming little cottage – if everything about it hadn't been thrice the size a regular man would need it to be.

Harry shot a quick glance at his two friends, then stepped forward to knock.

_Bam! Clang! Crash!_ Pasht bristled and all three Slytherins cringed back from the disaster apparently happening on the other side of the enormous, closed door in response to Harry's knock. Deep, throaty barking was interrupted by Hagrid's words of "back, Fang! Back!"

"Fang?" Hermione questioned apprehensively. It crossed all three minds that elsewhere sounded a pretty good place to be right now. _Too late_, Ron thought as the door opened, and there was Hagrid, attempting to keep a hold of an enormous border hound by the scruff of his neck, grinning at them from under his unruly beard.

"Hi, Hagrid," Harry jumped in quickly, "is this a bad time?"

"Nah, course not," Hagrid assured them. "Come in, all of ye."

"These are my friends, Ron and Hermione," Harry introduced the other two first years. "I hope it's ok that they came too?" he inquired politely.

"'Course it is. The more the merrier in my opinion!" Hagrid boomed. "_Down_, Fang!"

It was, of course, a hopeless cause. 'Fang' was too excited by the idea of company, and managed to slip out of Hagrids hold. He leapt at the three visitors and managed to bring all three of them to the ground – where he promptly slobbered all over them.

Once Hagrid had rescued them and showed them to seats with soup-like cups of warm tea in their hands, Fang calmed and settled down in front of the fire – which is when Pasht made her presence known. Surprisingly, Fang didn't react to the kitten, other than to lift his large head, perk his ears and twitch his nose in her direction. In turn, Pasht sniffed delicately at the huge border hound, meowed in approval, and proceeded to jump up on his back and settle in for a nap.

The visitors exchanged amused glances, and Harry had to wonder if they'd ever stop being surprised by his new familiar, as they settled in to chat and make a new friend.

* * *

When they got back from visiting Hagrid, they found Draco Malfoy in the first-years common room. It seemed he'd been waiting for them, as he moved to intercept them before they could go to their room.

"Where have you lot been then?" he demanded, obviously annoyed about something.

Harry had been practicing with the skill he'd learned from Hermione, and sent his magic out gently to probe the other boy's emotions lightly. He was... nervous, yet curious and feeling vaguely offended for some reason. Harry smiled gently to cover the moment, then said neutrally, "out on the grounds. Did you want to talk to us?"

Malfoy frowned. "Just you, actually," he paused significantly, but Ron and Hermione didn't move, and Harry didn't ask them to leave.

"Yes?" he asked innocently instead.

The boy frowned, obviously displeased. "The thing is Potter, I was going to ask you to sit with me at breakfast tomorrow," he blustered, as though ordaining a great favour.

Harry smiled shyly, keeping to the character he'd presented to Malfoy when he and the other boy had first met. "That will be most pleasant, Draco. We'll save you, Vincent and Gregory seats at the table tomorrow, alright? See you then... we have homework to finish now." With that, he quickly led his friends away from the gobsmacked boy.

"Was he trying to be... friendly?" Ron asked once their door was firmly closed behind them.

"I think that was more political with a dash of childish possessiveness thrown in to spice it up, actually," Harry replied thoughtfully.

"What makes you think so?" Hermione asked curiously, as they pulled out the little bit homework they hadn't yet finished in class from pure boredom.

"When I first met Draco he wanted to be impressive, he wants a real friend even if he doesn't realise it himself. The next time I saw him, he was with his parents... his father is obviously political, and I'm pretty sure Draco looks up to him," Harry explained his thoughts slowly as they sat down and started their work. "When we met him on the train, before he knew I was _Harry Potter_, he was trying to make it clear to the two of you that he knew me first so he should come first as my friend... it was like he was trying to mark his territory. Remember?"

"Yes, it was like that," Hermione mused.

"Then we arrived here, and suddenly I'm more than some kid he's decided is going to be his friend. Suddenly I'm Harry Potter and that makes me a political commodity for his father if he can cultivate my friendship," Harry started winding up his thoughts.

"...and he's been in contact constantly with home over the last week, so Lucious Malfoy could have sent instructions to make nice with you," Ron realised.

"Yes. Which makes me being his friend suddenly all the more important to him... and he sees the two of you as a threat. The saying 'doesn't play well with others' is an understatement in this case," Harry finished.

"What are you going to do?" Hermione asked.

Harry paused for a moment before he answered. It was an important consideration. "It depends on Draco. I don't mind being friends with him, I think it would do him some good to have people around with opinions that are different to what he grew up with; but I won't be friends with a bully. So it'll be up to him," Harry decided.

"I think he'll have to grow up a bit before that'll happen," Ron commented.

"Well, maybe we can set a good example for him," Hermione said, irony heavy in her tone; finding it amusing that the three of them – such outcasts in their lives until now – should be role models to _anybody_, let alone someone their own age. Harry and Ron easily caught on to what Hermione found amusing, and the three shared a grin before getting to work.

* * *

The next morning the trio were amongst the first to breakfast, as usual, and as promised saved three seats for their fellow Slytherins. When they arrived, Malfoy sat down with all the attitude and aplomb of an heir apparent, his two companions on either side of him.

"Good morning, Malfoy," Hermione greeted politely.

It went downhill from there.

Draco sneered, snarled and generally snarked his way through the meal, ignoring Ron and being downright rude to Hermione. At each insult the three friends became ever more rigid; an icy facade on each face hiding the anger and disgust they were beginning to feel.

At the conclusion of the meal, they stood as one. Draco floundered, having been right in the middle of an animated and elaborate story that seemed to star himself narrowly escaping a muggle helicopter while riding his broom.

"I must say, Malfoy, that this experience has been very educational for me," Harry spoke tightly, and for the first time Draco considered that perhaps the youth was made up of more than what he'd allowed the young Malfoy heir to see before. "You'll understand, I hope, that I do not wish to repeat it," Harry finished scathingly, "until you've _grown up_."

The three left him to go to class – a glowering, furious expression growing on his face.

* * *

At the beginning of the second week of classes Susan Bones approached Ron while he was studying in the library. Harry and Hermione had disappeared into the stacks a few minutes before to procure more reading material, leaving Ron to lay claim to the study table buried in the dark alcove no-one else seemed to know existed. The vivacious girl dumped her bag on the table and plopped into a chair across from him.

"So I've managed to get an empty classroom that we can turn into a meeting room for social," she started, as though continuing a conversation they'd already started, "and I've made up flyers for each house." She pulled out a colourful piece of parchment from her book-bag. "This is the Slytherin one. Can you hang it up in your common room?" Susan handed the parchment to him. It was an invitation for a first-years Social Gathering. "I'm glad you three were sorted into Slytherin, I didn't know the other first-years from your house very well – well, I don't know you very well, either, yet; but at least you're friendly. The others haven't really been, but I'm sure that will change." Ron raised an eyebrow in amusement, he himself not as certain. Susan didn't lose any momentum, though. "I hope you and Harry and Hermione will come, at least. It took me awhile to find you – why do you hide all the way back here?" she didn't give him a chance to answer, though. "I have to get going now – I'll see you there!" she grabbed her bag and rushed away.

Ron blinked. Then he found himself chuckling. When Harry and Hermione appeared again, each bearing a tower of books, they noticed the flyer. Hermione picked it up to examine it. "Susan gave you this?" she deduced, asking Ron to confirm her hypothesis.

"Yes, to hang in our common room. I wonder how many people will go?" he answered.

"I hope it's a success. Something like this should help with the prejudice that's running out of control around here," Harry commented, as he took the flyer from Hermione when she handed it to him.

"It's good that Susan's doing this," Hermione noted. "It's not the sort of thing I'd be comfortable organising," she continued, thinking of all the charity functions her mother was involved in running, "but Harry's right, this is an ideal way to reach out to the other first years."

"We'll have to keep supporting Susan," Ron observed. "She could become disheartened if this venture of hers doesn't succeed."

Harry smiled. "That shouldn't be too difficult," he said. Though he'd only just met Ron and Hermione, he was left with little doubt that together, the three of them could accomplish anything they set their minds to.

* * *

When they returned to the first-years common room that night after dinner, Ron hung the Social flyer under another notice that had been put up some time that day.

"Looks like we have our first flying lesson this week," he commented to his two friends. "It's with the Gryffindors this Thursday," he elaborated.

"That will be interesting. Have you had much chance to fly, Ron?" Harry asked, interested in the concept of flying on broomsticks, as they walked back to their room.

"A little. Only when my family was pre-occupied, of course. It's quite – exciting. Freeing, I suppose is the best way to describe it," the red-head replied.

"It is... hard to do?" Hermione asked tentatively, as they entered their room and put their things away in the study area.

Ron considered. "No, not really. Some people have natural talent, of course; but the thing that makes the most difference is confidence. When you have confidence in yourself your magic takes firmer control of the charms on the broom and it responds better," he explained.

Hermione nervously bit her lip. "I guess that makes sense. I suppose we'll see if it's as easy as that this Thursday," she smiled at the boys and then the three room-mates scattered to get ready for bed and a few hours of homework.

* * *

Thursday morning dawned bright and clear. As was their custom by now, the three Slytherin friends were up and about with the sun; first the boys joining in with Hermione's dance warm-ups and routines that she claimed would be the best physical exercise they could get in a place like Hogwarts – Harry and Ron had soon realised she was right – then moving on to Harry helping his two friends learning some more advanced musical theory. Ron had joined the school band in Ottery St Catchpole to learn the basics and Hermione had taken a year of piano, but they had both expressed an interest in learning more after they heard Harry practice his violin. After that they spent some time studying whatever took their fancy (they each usually chose a muggle topic to take a break from magic); and then preparing for their magical lessons – gathering completed homework and packing book-bags up with texts and everything else they would need that day – all in the hours between the dawn and leaving for breakfast.

When they walked into the Great Hall they were among the first students to arrive as usual, and had their pick of seats. They each grabbed their preferred breakfasts and settled in to eat before their familiars arrived for a visit.

This morning when the mail arrived, Michael-Angelo was carrying a parcel. Ron rewarded his familiar with a bit of bacon before opening it. It turned out to be his enrolment notification and first lesson package from the muggle correspondence school his teacher had recommended. He smiled, realising from the information included that he'd been right about being able to finish his muggle education in only a few years. He looked up from his mail to find two curious, but restrained friends – _friends_ – waiting to see if he was willing to explain. He was.

Ron told them of sneaking off into the local village a few times, of being interested in the school, and perhaps making friends, and finding out that he really enjoyed learning. He explained about his teacher and the advanced classes he'd been able to take and that his school professor had recommended the correspondence school.

"But how does the mail system work?" Harry asked; puzzled at how a muggle institution could contact Ron via owl post.

Ron described how it worked. "The school sends everything off to a muggle post office box that they think is my address, which is a centre run by the ministry for magical/wizarding mail exchange. They in turn send everything off to the recipient – either with one of their own owls or by putting it all aside for a personal owl to collect. When I need to send something in, I send it to the exchange with Michael-Angelo, and it's then sent on via muggle post to the school. It takes an extra few days, but the system works very well."

"What are you studying?" Hermione asked, very interested.

"I'm completing my muggle secondary education. I figure I've already done so much, why waste all that effort by not finishing?" Ron answered.

"What did you have to do to do that?" Hermione asked, interested.

"A few placement tests, then enrolment stuff," Ron explained. "Why?"

"I'd love to finish Muggle School, I'm nearly done as well," Hermione answered. "My tutor was aiming for me to start tertiary-level classes when I turned twelve, so I'm nearly ready to take my A-levels." (3)

"I can send a new student inquiry if you like," Ron offered.

"That would be brilliant!" Hermione stated.

"What about you, Harry?" Ron asked, turning to his other friend, who had been very quiet but was obviously listening with a laser-like focus.

"I'd love to as well, but I'm not sure what kind of level I'm at with school. It's not like my schooling has ever been very formal... are you sure it'll be ok?" Harry answered.

"Yes, lots of different people attend, some of them get left behind in subjects in mainstream school before they join, so they'll be used to students with uneven results," Ron reassured him.

"Then yes, that would be great!" Harry smiled the most brilliant smile his friends had ever seen him give.

Ron pulled out a sheet of paper from a muggle writing set and dashed off a quick request for two more student placements.

"Are you up for another delivery, Michael-Angelo?" he asked his owl. The creature ruffled his feathers and hooted proudly.

Ron grinned at his affronted familiar. "I know you're a brilliant postal owl, Michael-Angelo. I'm just looking after you. I don't want to send you straight away if you're tired from carrying that package," he explained to the bird.

Michael-Angelo answered by sticking out his foot for the note.

* * *

That afternoon, the trio made their way out onto the open area of the Quidditch Pitch with varying emotions. Ron was feeling quite excited, although you wouldn't guess it from his cool, blue eyes. He'd often snuck out flying on his brothers' broomsticks, and enjoyed the feeling of freeing himself from the confines of the earth and leaving his problems behind. It was the same feeling he got while losing himself in his art. Hermione was feeling apprehensive; while she didn't really have a problem with heights, the thought of soaring miles high in the air with nothing but a temperamental, magicked piece of wood supporting her sent her stomach to hatching butterflies by the droves. Harry's feelings fell in the middle. He was uncertain how well he'd do on a broom, and didn't want to look foolish; but on the other hand the thought of _flying_ filled him with anticipation and excitement.

The lesson had been progressing well; Harry's broom had smacked into his hand hard enough to smart; Ron's broom had bunny hopped three times before jumping into his hand; and Hermione's broom had rolled over a few times and then floated serenely into her hold. They then started to work on how to mount and hold the broom – the three friends had had to hold in snickers when Madam Hooch had corrected Malfoy's grip – and they were about to have a go at floating when it happened: Neville Longbottom of Gryffindor (they'd met briefly on the train) had been so nervous that he'd accidentally zoomed straight up into the air. His broom had bucked him off when he reached about thirty feet and the poor boy had headed straight back to the ground.

It was pure instinct for Harry; before he'd had a chance to blink the power, his magic, had been there, ready to be used. _Slow him down_, Harry commanded desperately. And still Neville fell. _Slow him down!_ Harry commanded again. And still Neville fell, but... he was slowing down. When Neville hit the ground, it was still pretty hard, and he landed awkwardly, with a sharp _crack__!_ from his wrist; but otherwise, he was unhurt.

Ron and Hermione looked at him sharply; they had felt his magic in the air, and though they didn't say anything their eyes promised they would be talking about this later. Harry nodded silently, agreeing without words.

Madam Hooch, had, by this time, taken off to the hospital wing, Neville in tow; and Harry noticed that the boy had left something behind. Harry recognized it as the Remembrall that Neville's grandmother had sent him, the one that had arrived this morning at breakfast. The only reason he'd notice the occurrence was because of Malfoy – typically he'd tried to bully the shy, bumbling Gryffindor by snatching it away from him...

_After Ron's familiar had departed, the three Slytherins had settled in at the breakfast table to chat until they needed to leave for class, but were soon interrupted by a commotion at the Gryffindor table. They looked up to see Malfoy, backed by Greg and Vince, standing menacingly over Gryffindor first-year Neville Longbottom. Malfoy was holding something out of the boy's reach and the other Gryffindor firsties were scowling at the interloper. _

_Hermione frowned. Having lived through many years of school-yard bullying, she didn't like to see it happen to anyone else. "Should we..." she started to ask her friends, but Ron – experienced in deflating such situations through the timely intervention of a handy adult – interrupted her. _

"_Look," he pointed out McGonagall descending on the situation like an avenging angel of doom. _

"_Seems McGonagall has things well in hand. Smells trouble a mile away, that one," Harry commented. "Though... maybe we should make it clear to Malfoy that his behaviour is unacceptable. We've finished here and classes are starting anyway. Come on."_

_Harry's two friends followed him, their features morphing into masks of icy disapproval. They timed their approach well, passing Malfoy and his goons just after McGonagall had shooed the Gryffindors off to class and left. As they passed Malfoy, who was still angry about his 'fun' being cut short, he automatically lashed out at his housemates. "I suppose you lot agree with her, you bunch of goody-goody wanna-be Gryffindors!"_

_The three paused. Ron and Hermione expressions became, if possible, even more disapproving; though they left Harry to answer, knowing Malfoy would take more notice of the famous boy._

_Harry turned his head to the other but not his body. He knew Malfoy would understand the implication that he wasn't worthy of Harry's complete attention. "I think someone of Slytherin house could be a little more dignified, instead of acting like a second-rate school yard thug."_

_Malfoy flushed in embarrassment and displeasure, and was silent as the trio left the Great Hall._

Professor McGonagall had interceded then, but she wasn't here now, no teacher was, and Malfoy jumped at the opportunity.

He grabbed up the small trinket, with an ugly sneer on his face, made fun of all the Gryffindors – Neville in particular – and took off on his broom to hide the gift somewhere Neville would never find it. The trio glanced at each other, and then moved quickly.

"I'll go after Malfoy," Harry said, and took off. Ron and Hermione agreed, as Harry could withstand the political consequences of an annoyed Malfoy far easier than either of them could.

"I'll calm down the Gryffindors," Hermione offered; as she was muggleborn, it was far easier for them to accept her than the 'traitor Weasley'.

Ron nodded, and said, "I'll keep the Slytherins from interfering." Even though his family was seen as being 'blood-traitors', he himself was pure-blooded, and in Slytherin; and so he was far more easily accepted than Hermione, as a 'mudblood'.

While Ron and Hermione handled the rest of their peers on the ground, Harry had flown after Malfoy. He'd been surprised at how _easy_ it was – this was _wonderful_! – and felt a surge of pure joy, that he had to push aside quickly in order to deal with one Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy," Harry ordered sternly, "stop acting like a spoilt brat and give me that thing."

Malfoy sneered at him. "You're such a goody-goody Potter; one would think you were standing up for Gryffindorks! What are you going to do if I don't?"

Harry's eyes narrowed and grew cold; they looked like green ice. His face became hard and resolute, and his magic seemed to ripple the air around him.

Draco swallowed; and he lost any and all belief that this was going to go his way at all. Draco didn't ever think anyone his own age could be so scary – let alone the small, shy boy he'd met in Diagon Alley!

"You won't like the consequences, Malfoy," Harry answered his question softly, deadly.

Draco Malfoy had grown up with the firm belief that everything in this world was his for the taking; that anyone around him was inferior; and if he wanted something, all he had to do was demand it and it would be his. And so, even though he was afraid of the boy in front of him, his own nature wouldn't allow him to give in all the way. In an act of pure spite, Malfoy shouted, "you want it, catch it!" threw the Remembrall as far and hard as he could, and beat a hasty retreat to the ground.

Harry immediately dismissed Malfoy from his mind, his focus solely on one thing: the falling glass ball. He shot towards it, gaining speed in a sharp dive, ignoring the screams coming from the ground, and managed to catch it a foot from being smashed into smithereens. Harry pulled out of the dive sharply and landed firmly.

He rejoined the class just in time for Madam Hooch to return and dismiss them; and in the chaos the three friends slipped away to talk and return the Remembrall to Neville. They missed the sharp pair of eyes that had watched the whole thing, hidden in an upstairs window...

* * *

Once they had left their classmates behind, Harry, Ron and Hermione walked to the hospital wing, each deep in thought. When they arrived, they found Neville sitting up on one of the beds, with Madam Pomfrey – the school's medi-witch – standing over him, waving her wand in complicated patterns and mumbling under her breath. She had a furious scowl on her face to go along with it. "...utterly ridiculous practice; should be banned from the curriculum – just what do you think you're doing here?" she snapped at the three Slytherins when she noticed them. A quick look shared between the three had Hermione stepping forward to speak for them.

"Hello Madam Pomfrey. We've just come from class, and wanted to see if Neville was alright," she said respectfully with a polite smile.

Neville took the opportunity to speak. "I'm fine, really – Madam Pomfrey already fixed my arm, I don't need to stay any longer – " he was interrupted by an irate healer who had obviously heard this a number of times from various charges over the years.

"And you would know, would you? Taken your healing degree already? Had how many years of experience to make you an expert? As I've already told you Longbottom, you'll stay until I say otherwise!"

"But – " Neville didn't get the chance to argue, as Harry spoke – softly, but still cutting across the combatants firmly – with an aura of quiet authority that he projected effortlessly.

"Neville, you fell a very long way. You could have damaged more than just your arm. Madam Pomfrey wants to make sure you're alright," as Harry spoke, both Neville and Pomfrey seemed to calm, and Neville started looking sheepish.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I won't argue anymore," he muttered to the healer, clearly embarrassed.

"That's alright, Mr. Longbottom. Now, you will stay here for the afternoon so I can observe you. Your friend is quite right; I need to be sure you haven't suffered any kind of head injury. Magic can't fix everything you know!" she turned to the trio. "You may stay for a little visit as long as you're quiet," she decided after studying them for a moment.

"Thank you, ma'am," Hermione took over speaking for them again. The three Slytherins approached their injured year-mate.

"Here," Harry said quietly as he handed Neville his Remembrall.

Neville's eyes widened in awe. "Thank you!" he said shyly, taking the trinket.

Harry shot him a quick smile. "Wasn't too much trouble," he replied.

Neville bit his lip, like he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure what.

"What is it, Neville?" Hermione encouraged the reticent boy.

"Oh, I just – um..." he stuttered.

Ron realised then that Neville didn't have anything to say, really; but didn't want them to leave yet. He gave a smile of his own and grabbed a chair, swinging it around to straddle it backwards, resting his arms along the back. "Do you mind if we wait with you for a little while?" he offered.

"Oh yes, please!" the bed-bound boy blurted out, and then blushed a spectacular red.

Harry and Hermione couldn't help but smile themselves, and they pulled up chairs of their own. They spent a quiet afternoon chatting softly about classes and teachers, hobbies and year-mates; gently encouraging Neville to join in the conversation. By the time Madam Pomfrey told them they had to leave – or they'd miss dinner – the Gryffindor had become quite comfortable with them and had promised to come to Susan's Social Gathering. The three Slytherins took their leave after promising to fetch him from the hospital wing before bed, leaving Neville to the practical mercies of Madam Pomfrey and her hospital food.

* * *

Severus Snape had a problem. A dilemma. A difficult choice to make. One that centred around James Potter's brat-child. In the future, he was sure, this certain boy would be the cause of many such dilemmas; the headache sitting at the back of his head ready to pounce was surely prophetic. He ignored the fact that he had never taken divination, and thought the whole thing a crock reserved for the most simple-minded fools – a thought he had to be very careful to conceal from two very powerful wizards that had the annoying tendency to try tip-toeing through his thoughts on a regular basis like a herd of elephants. Yes, Severus Snape was certain this turn of events would be repeated many times; but this particular man was also very talented in the art of self-deception, and decided to leave himself in blissful ignorance.

Coming back to the current situation: Severus had just been approached by Slytherin Quidditch Captain Marcus Flint, about adding a first year to the team. Usually, bending the rules in aid of his Slytherins was Severus' favourite past-time; and there was also the fact that it had been several years – thanks to Charlie Weasley – since Slytherin had taken the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup, and though Minerva didn't have any likely prospects to solve her little Seeker problem, he also had a healthy respect for the Gryffindor trait of pulling a victory out of their – _ahem_, wizards hats (otherwise known as thin air! It was most vexing...). (4)

On the other hand, however, this meant bending the rules for _Harry Potter_, bane of his existence (even though he'd only seen Potter in class and the child hadn't said much more than three words in each after that first day, he was still a bane, dammit!); arrogant, stuck-up, prideful brat that he was. Apparently Flint had seen the boy pull off a feat of untold proportions in his flying class while he'd watching from the bathroom (and Severus didn't want to know what Flint had been doing in that bathroom that required him to watch a bunch of first-years; he was sure it wasn't anything good) but Severus didn't care for the details (really, _really_ didn't). (5)

So the dilemma: annoy Minerva, aid his house, and most likely win the house cup (which they would, if the brat had inherited even the slightest amount of his father's talent, he was loath to admit); against allowing the spawn of James Potter something that would make him – _shudder_ – happy.

How had the boy ended up in his house anyway? He should have been in Gryffindor like his thrice-dammed father and mudblood mother (he also ignored the fact that he had, in fact, admired Lily Evens; she had been very smart and didn't put up with his attitude, and had been counted on the very short list of people he called friend). The boy should have been Minerva's problem, not his! His father would turn in his grave – wait. Now, _that_ was something he had yet to consider. Harry Potter, son of James Potter (who had been the most Gryffindor of Gryffindors Severus had ever met), winning Quidditch matches for _Slytherin_...

Oh, yes. Severus smirked, and strode out of his office to see the headmaster. Harry Potter _would_ play Quidditch.

And he would win. (6)

* * *

That evening, after dinner had ended and Harry, Ron and Hermione had changed out of their school robes, they went back to the hospital wing to pick up Neville.

Madam Pomfrey was giving some last-minute instructions to the Gryffindor. "...and remember if you develop any pain or dizziness to come back for a quick check – " she stopped in surprise, obviously not expecting to see the three Slytherins again that day.

Neville, however, brightened. "Hi guys!" he greeted them enthusiastically; the shy Gryffindor hadn't really expected them to return for him.

The three friends returned his welcome, then Hermione turned to the medi-witch and asked "is he ready to leave now?"

The matron shot one last, penetrating look at the recently injured boy. "Yes," she conceded, "but keep an eye on him tomorrow," she instructed, causing said boy to cringe in embarrassment, and the three Slytherin first years to become bemused at the sudden responsibility. "If he looks off, bring him back. Mr. Longbottom, the next time your head is in the clouds, keep your feet on the ground!" With that, the woman turned away briskly and went into her office, the door snapping shut behind her.

Ron smiled in amusement. "Come on, Neville. Let's get back to our dorms before curfew," he rounded his friends up quickly and they left, falling back into the friendly chatter of earlier that afternoon.

They reached Gryffindor tower in good time and said goodnight. As Neville turned to the portrait guarding his house – a depiction of a rather rotund woman by the unfortunate moniker of "The Fat Lady" – however, his Slytherin friends noted the look of mortification crossing his young features.

"What is it Neville?" Harry asked.

"I... can't remember the password," the boy fretted.

"Oh. Well..." Ron addressed the portrait. "Would you let him inside without it?"

"Absolutely not!" the woman exclaimed, scandalized.

Neville sighed. "You go on. I'll just wait here. Someone's bound to walk by sooner or later," he told them.

"Don't be silly, Neville. We'll just go and ask Professor McGonagall," Hermione stated logically.

"Besides," Ron pointed out, "it's nearly curfew. Everyone else is probably already inside." Decisively, he turned towards the deputy head's office, his friends falling into step, Neville trailing uncertainly behind.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall supposed it was a good thing she didn't suffer from low-blood pressure, and wasn't prone to silly flights of fancy; for if she did, when one of her Gryffindors was escorted in to see her by three Slytherins because he'd forgotten the dormitory password after they'd fetched him from the hospital wing subsequent to him being hurt in class... she might very well have fainted.

As it was she handled the situation with as much dignity as she could muster, and when they left she was sure they'd had no idea of the shock they'd caused her to suffer.

Helpful Slytherins. _Three_ of them.

It was fortunate, perhaps, that neither did the Master Trafigins (7) fancy the thought of being compared at all to Sibyl Trelawney – or she'd be sorely tempted to walk around the school spouting portents of doom and the end of the world. Minerva's gaze dropped to the summer homework she was marking for a moment, before making the decision to leave it to tomorrow. She really could use a hot toddy before bed...

* * *

The four students were making their way back to Gryffindor tower. Neville had offered to go alone, but Ron had vetoed the idea. "There's curfew for a reason, Neville. I don't think anyone should be wondering around the castle alone after hours. Besides, if we meet a teacher or a prefect, we'll need to tell them – " Ron was interrupted before he could finish.

"Meow," Mr. Filche's cat, Mrs. Norris, appeared from a side corridor to the one they were walking down. Pasht, who had been prancing on ahead, stopped, turned and growled at the other cat. Mrs. Norris hissed in challenge, and Pasht's fur stood on end.

That was enough for Neville. "Mrs. Norris!" he squeaked, and took off down the hall.

"Neville, wait!" Hermione called. She glanced at her friends, and realised that they all felt somewhat responsible for the awkward Gryffindor.

Casting a quick glance at the stand-off between his familiar and Mrs. Norris, Harry shrugged and gave his opinion, "I think Neville's the one who's more helpless."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Let's catch him up," he sighed, and they ran after him. Being a lot fitter, the three Slytherins caught up in no time, and Ron reached out and snagged the back of Neville's shirt, stopping him short.

"Neville, she's gone, don't worry," he spoke quickly.

"But Filch is always around where Mrs. Norris is!" Neville protested.

"I think Mrs. Norris is a bit too pre-occupied at the moment to fetch him," Harry smiled, amused at his own feline familiar's actions. "Come on, we need to get back to Gryffindor tower. Pasht will meet us later," he said as he looked around with a frown on his face.

Hermione noticed. "What's wrong Harry?"

"Well, I don't want to alarm anyone but..." the boy trailed off uncertainly.

"What?" Ron prompted.

"Does anyone know where we are, exactly?" Harry asked.

The other three first years looked around.

Ron blinked.

Neville swallowed nervously.

Hermione bit her lip, and then muttered "Oh dear."

Harry absently reflected that the girl had managed to sum up their situation _most_ succinctly.

* * *

By the time they found their way back to Gryffindor tower, they were sweating, panting and _pooped_. Even Hermione, the fittest of the four, was coming to the end of her endurance. They all leaned against the wall across from the Fat Lady's portrait, trying to catch their breath.

It was then that Neville looked up and whimpered. "No..."

"What, Neville?" Ron asked, too breathless to consider being gentle in his question.

"She's gone..." Neville whimpered, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor.

"What?" Hermione asked, raising her head to follow their new friends gaze. When she realized what it was that Neville had seen, she herself collapsed to the ground with a defeated groan.

Ron and Harry quickly saw the reason their friends were so upset – the portrait that guarded the house of Gryffindor was empty. The Fat Lady was nowhere to be seen.

The two boys exchanged a look and joined their two friends sitting on the floor.

Tonight had been one miss-hap after another, it seemed. Harry supposed it was a good thing that McGonagall had written down that password for Neville, as he was sure the absent-minded boy wouldn't have remembered it otherwise.

Not long after the four first-years had realised they were lost, they had encountered Peeves, who had attempted to intimidate them, then blackmail them, gotten annoyed when it hadn't worked and chased them throwing anything he could get his hands on, hoping that the racket would get them caught and in trouble. They had ended up losing him down a dark corroder and piling inside a room. Of course they could have chosen a better door, Harry mused, remembering the enormous mythological creature they'd found on the other side of it. Deciding that Peeves was the better of two evils, the four frightened children had run back the way they came, and soon after found a corridor they recognised. They'd run all the way back to Gryffindor tower, only now to find that Neville couldn't get in until the Fat Lady returned.

Harry sighed, closing his eyes and centring his thoughts on his magic. It was something he'd learned to do even before he knew to call the power within him _magic_. It was calming to him; his mind drifting in the currents of energy that ran through his body, allowing him to 'see' the delicate balance of his bodies systems – blood, oxygen, chemicals, everything that made his body work. If something was out of balance, damaged or not working properly, he could direct more of his magic to that area, correcting the function. Once he completed this exercise, he would be left completely calm and exceptionally clear-headed, allowing him to perhaps think of a solution to their current dilemma.

It felt to Harry as though an infinite amount of time had passed, but he knew from experience it was only a few minutes – his mind, body and magic were now in perfect alignment.

Perhaps they could find the Fat Lady and ask her to return to let Neville in. Automatically, Harry sent his power out to the frame, hoping to track where the Lady had gone...

...and met an awareness the likes of which he'd never encountered before. It was old – no, _ancient_ – and powerful. It felt like secrets well-kept and charges well-guarded; beyond that Harry had the sense of both great pride and profound sadness. He felt an answering emotion inside himself; a desperate need both to please and comfort this presence. Suddenly its attention seemed to focus on him for a moment, before it _sent_ something out into the castle. Harry wasn't sure what had happened, until he realised Hermione was shaking him free of his meditation.

"Harry, are you awake?" she asked him softly.

"Yes, what is it?" he replied.

She smiled. "The Fat Lady came back. Neville's gone inside; we should get back to our room. I think I'm ready for bed."

Harry nodded back. "Yes, I know what you mean," he murmured, and he and his friends left for bed. He had a great deal to think about.

* * *

The next day the three young Slytherins decided to forgo most of their usual routine in exchange for discussing everything that had happened to them the day before. They slept in a little, and after their daily exercise routine – Hermione would have a very successful career as a drill sergeant, should she choose to pursue it, both boys were sure – they settled into the comfortable armchairs on the opposite side of the room to their shared study table.

None of them really knew where to start. Sharing and discussing an experience was something only Ron and Hermione had done with adults – even then it was almost always never the full truth. Harry had experience talking with Miss Nancy and Miss Kelly, but usually it was about music or schooling – never about his life, never about magic.

Ron cleared his throat. "So..." he kicked off the discussion. "Three heads."

The tension broken, Harry and Hermione couldn't stop themselves from laughing.

"Yeah. Three heads. A Cerberus, isn't it? A hellhound?" Harry commented.

"A hellhound, yes; according to Greek legend, a hellhound called Cerberus guarded the gates of the underworld, preventing those that had died from escaping. I suppose they were afraid of spirits," Hermione remembered (8).

"What on earth could one be doing here? I don't know if the whole Greek legend thing is true, but I do know that they're really rare, and classified XXXX by the ministry (9). Only licensed breeders are supposed to handle them!" Ron exclaimed.

"Didn't you notice what it was standing on?" Hermione asked.

Ron paused, closing his eyes and bringing the memory of the room into focus. He explicitly focused on remembering every part of the room until it was crystal clear in his mind. He looked down at the hellhound's feet. "...a trapdoor?" he asked Hermione, wondering if he'd remembered correctly.

The girl nodded. "It's guarding something," she deduced.

"Well, at least we know where that package from Gringotts ended up," Harry commented dryly. He had always been able to predict human behaviour fairly accurately, and considering the personality of the headmaster, the boy knew that if for some reason he didn't trust that the Goblin bank was safe, he would have whatever it was that needed to be protected close to him. Harry also had quite a keen instinct for putting the pieces of a puzzle together so that they fit correctly.

Hermione considered the possibility. "I think you're right, Harry. It's the only thing that makes sense; it was taken from Gringotts to be guarded here," the girl nodded as she concluded her thought progression. Hermione's mind was intensely logical, able to pull facts from the different places where they were stored in her mind and measure them against each other to come up with theories that fit those facts. These theories were usually right.

Ron nodded in thoughtful agreement. He could see the sense in what his friends were saying; his own mind that of a strategist, able to see the different possibilities and knowing which course of action would be the most effective. If the security at Gringotts was faulty – and they knew it was, considering the information from the _Daily Prophet_ – and if the object belonged to the headmaster, then it would only make sense for him to bring the aforementioned object here, where his power was most consolidated.

The three considered the mystery for a moment longer, before Hermione decided to change the subject to the other important thing that happened yesterday – in her mind, it was more important, in fact. The drooling dog was the headmaster's problem. Harry was her friend. "You... did something yesterday in class, didn't you?" she asked, uncertain if her question would be welcome.

"Yes," Harry paused, considering how best to explain something that was so much a part of his life. At the beginning, he supposed. "When I was younger, I had some pretty extreme cases of accidental magic," he started. "Not uncommon, I know, but... my circumstances meant they usually happened when I was in danger, and because of that, I became aware of what was happening. I knew it was me, and I knew it wasn't something that happened to everybody.

"The first time was when the street gang I ran with was culled by hunters...

_**Memory**_

_**Harry, A**__**ge 6 ¾**_

_Harry had been living on the streets of London for the last three months. When he'd first run away, he'd been unsure whether or not he should merely stay out of harms way for a few days and return, or move on completely. He supposed he could have gone back easily enough, but that in itself was something Harry hated to do – the easy thing. It had decided him; he wasn't going to trust his safety to anyone but himself._

_It had been hard. Harry knew it would be; he wasn't delusional about the life he had chosen. It would have been ten times as hard, though, had Harry not met Bent. He was the leader of a group of street kids that called themselves the Lost Boys (even though there were also girls in it), because they were made up of everyone that didn't fit into some other category (like the Wolves, who were a violent, animalistic pack of kids; or the Blades, who ran drugs and other illegal goods for money to survive; or the Peaches, filled with older kids who turned tricks)._

_Harry, himself, became a teacher to the other kids whose literary skills were next to nothing and couldn't add or subtract to save their lives; and they in turn taught him the mandatory skills of one living on the streets: how to steal without being seen, how to pick pockets and, perhaps the most important skill of all, how to blend in. He was a willing and talented student; able to adapt to any situation with ease – one day, he'd even hoodwinked a bobby __(10)__ into thinking a strange woman Harry had never seen before in his life was his mother – all of which earned him the nick-name Quicksilver; for his quick thinking and lying tongue._

_Although he was counted as one of them, Harry didn't have any particularly close friends in the group aside from Sky, a rather sweet girl with blond hair and blue eyes whose head was always in the clouds. She had wondered away from her parents one day when they were out shopping in London, quickly become lost, and been adopted by the Lost Boys. Harry enjoyed her odd personality._

_All of this came to an end one cold, dark night. Harry had been heading back to their latest lair – to stay in one place was to invite ruin – when his instincts suddenly went on high alert. He stopped and looked around; there was nothing out of place. But Harry _knew_ that danger was near. He dropped back into the shadows surrounding the warehouse the Lost Boys were living in, and started to sneak forward._

_It was then he saw the Hunter. A vicious group of criminals who culled street kids to sell them for money, Hunters were the most feared danger any of them had. It was strange that they were here; they usually left the larger groups alone… unless they'd tracked a contract to their group._

_Which one of the Lost Boys had come from a family rich enough to hire the Hunters? Harry didn't know, and he didn't care; the Lost Boys had become his family, and they were now in danger. He had to do something._

_A surge of power ran through his body; Harry didn't know what it was, only that it was strong. It felt like a more potent version of the instinct that had developed lately – the same one that told him the Hunters were there – and yet, different at the same time. Harry suddenly knew that this power would obey him; all he had to do was guide it with his will. He _wanted_ to be invisible to the enemy – a tingle ran across his body, starting at the top of his head and flowing down his back like paint had been spilled on him – and Harry knew that he _was_. He moved quickly to the building, through the net of Hunters on the outside. Harry _wanted_ there to be a loud bang (to wake the Lost Boys) and a bright light (to illuminate the Hunters), and the power surged again and then there was chaos – Lost Boys running and Hunters chasing and Harry was still invisible in the middle of it all._

_Then the head Hunter was calling off the hunt; and Harry saw that three kids had been caught. _At least most of them got away,_ he thought; and he heard the one in charge complain that so many had escaped, wondering where the light had come from, but at least they had their main target. Harry wondered who it could be; but then he saw the three that had been caught, and who exactly the man had been referring to: Sky. Harry felt his heart contract. _There's nothing I can do for her_… _

_Harry didn't sleep very well for a while after that._

_**End Memory**_

"...after that, I knew that there was something – some kind of power – inside me. I wanted answers, and I literally lived the next few months in a library… but what was in me didn't match anything I read about. When I couldn't find answers anywhere else, I started looking inside. I learned meditation techniques; easy enough to find instructions for. Soon I was able to sense that power inside me... and then eventually I managed to manipulate it."

Ron frowned thoughtfully. "And because you had no frame of reference, you didn't know it was magic?" he reasoned.

Harry shook his head. "No. Not until I stumbled across the Leaky Cauldron. After that I learnt a lot more."

Hermione was frowning thoughtfully. "Do you think it's something we can learn to do?" she asked.

From the intensity of Ron's gaze fixed on him, Harry assumed it was something he was interested in, too. "I don't see why not," he answered. "I've never taught anyone before, of course, but…" he trailed off, thinking. "We can start with meditation, like I did. I'm pretty sure it should be easy enough to learn." He shook off his thoughts, turning to his friends. "We have some time before breakfast. Let's get started."

* * *

Very soon the date Susan had set for the first Hogwarts Social was upon them. Harry, Ron and Hermione arrived ten minutes early to the designated 'Social Room'. They had dressed carefully in casual clothes without any affiliation to house colour. Susan had recruited her fellow Hufflepuff's to help her set up, and they were just putting the finishing touches to the room. As the three Slytherins entered, the friendly chatter quietened, and the first years setting up turned to stare at them.

Susan didn't let it last long, however. "You made it!" she exclaimed enthusiastically, moving to greet them and usher them inside. "I'm so glad you're here," she said quietly, guiding them toward a small two-seater couch that sat right-angle to a matching armchair. Both couch and chair were a deep royal purple colour, reflecting the décor of the rest of the room with its royal hues and conspicuously absent house colours. "All the h'uffs are here, of course; and Lisa promised she'd come, but I don't know how many other Ravenclaws will bother and I haven't heard anything from any of the Gryffindoors…" Susan continued to fret.

"Susan, stop worrying. I'm sure today will be a success, even if not everyone comes," Hermione said firmly, but encouragingly as she sat in the armchair. "Now, did you need any further help?"

"No, we're all set up," Susan replied, as she seemed to relax on Hermione's command. "Now we're just waiting."

"Well, we've never been to one of these Socials before, so what happens at them?" Ron asked as he and Harry took their seats on the two-seater.

"Oh, it's nothing fancy, really. Usually the parents or grandparents set them up for themselves, and the kids just tag along. We've got refreshments set to be served in half an hour or so, and I thought we'd finish with an entertainment cube after that; I didn't want the first meeting to be overcomplicated," Susan explained.

"Sounds lovely," Hermione complimented, as Lisa appeared at the door with a few Ravenclaw first-years, closely followed by Neville arriving with all their Gryffindor class-mates, and neatly distracting Susan.

"Oh!" she said in surprise, and quickly excused herself to greet the new arrivals.

"Looks like Neville came through," Ron commented. "I wonder how he got all the other Gryffindoors here?"

"Well, they _are_ a little overprotective of him, have you noticed? Likely all he had to say was that he was coming," Harry said, eyes sparkling in good humour.

Ron grinned back, "or mentioned that _we_ were the ones who invited him."

"Noticed they're a little paranoid about Slytherins, have you," Hermione murmured, laughter in her eyes if not her tone, as Neville descended upon them.

Emboldened by their shyer member, the other Gryffindors eventually came forward and introduced themselves, followed closely by Lisa and Susan leading their own house members.

Soon the trio found themselves surrounded, chairs and cushions pulled close to where they held court and most of their year-mates chatting amicably around them.

* * *

The rest of the Social meeting had gone well, Harry and Hermione as well as the other muggle-born or raised being introduced to the concept of an 'entertainment cube' which most likened to a futuristic television. It sat in the middle of the group, a small, shimmering cube that would play music with pictures or colours projected into the air; while the children sat around it sharing sweetmeats and tea. Everyone who attended left looking forward to the next meeting. Susan was overjoyed.

"I'm so relieved," she confided in them quietly as they left. "I really wanted this to work out. Thank you _so_ _much_ for coming... and you know, supporting me and everything."

The three shared a surprised look. "You're welcome Susan, but, we didn't do anything, really," Harry answered.

"Somehow I don't think this would have worked as well if you haven't been here," Susan said thoughtfully as she looked at them in a way well beyond her years. As suddenly as the moment came it was gone again, however, and the Hufflepuff girl was all smiles and enthusiasm once more. "I can't wait for the next one," she gushed. "You'll come to that too, won't you?"

The three Slytherins looked at the expectant expression on the girl's face, shared an amused glance, and answered as one.

"We wouldn't miss it."

* * *

As time passed, as it was wont to, the three friends grew in both knowledge and power. Of course they were still children, and no matter how mature they were for their young age, there was always a limit to their patience. Peeves had _just_ reached it.

The three Slytherins stalked – it was the only word for it – through the castle, dripping wet. Literally. They left a trail behind them that Argus Filch would rage over for days. When they finally reached the sanctity of their suite, Hermione had only one thing to say.

"I don't care what I have to do. I don't care how long it takes. I don't care how difficult it's going to be. I am going to exorcise that poltergeist!" she spat.

"I'll help," Ron growled.

"In the meantime, I think it's time that troublesome spectre had a taste of his own medicine," Harry gritted out.

The three shared a _very_ Slytherin smile.

* * *

Weeks passed, and before the students realised it, Halloween was upon them. The last class was over, best robes and hats were pulled out of trunks and straightened, house colours proudly paraded across the entrance hall, and a school full of magical children were looking forward to stuffing themselves silly on a feast of goodies.

All bar three of them.

Harry and Ron were becoming worried. They had not seen Hermione since charms earlier that day. The teacher, Filius Flitwick, had – like every other teacher – sorted the class into pairs. Hermione had taken her turn to be separated from her two friends and had partnered Pansy Parkinson, who had been incensed when Hermione had managed the new charm before her. As they were leaving the class, she deliberately turned to Tracey Davies, her best friend, and – ensuring that Hermione could hear her – hissed furiously, just loudly enough, "what a freak! No wonder the only ones that can stand her are the other two freaks! Mudblood's _parents_ probably can't stand her…" and she and Davies swaggered off to their next class as Hermione went white. Before Harry or Ron could say or do anything, she had hurried away. Thinking to catch her before their next class, the boys had picked up their pace; but when they arrived she hadn't been there, and hadn't shown up all period. It set a distressing trend for the rest of the day.

The boys had been a little late getting to the feast – having waited in their room until the last minute hoping their friend would appear – but when Hermione was _again_ missing, they turned around and walked out. Their friend was more important that a feast, after all. They didn't see Professor Quirrel arrive a moment later, breathless, white faced, and run into the great hall to make a terrifying announcement…

* * *

The boys had finally found their female friend – with considerable help from the ghosts and portraits – in the girls bathroom in the charms corridor. Her bloodshot eyes, red nose and wet face were testament of what Hermione had been doing in there.

"Hermione!" they both cried, and – though they had no experience of comfort themselves – followed their instincts to take the girl in their arms between them.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked gently. "Surely what Parkinson said – "

The girl shook her head. "It's not her. Not really – she's just an ignorant, jealous child," she spoke truthfully.

"Then what?" Ron asked, confused.

Hermione held out a letter.

Ron took the letter from his friend and, at her urging, read it out loud:

"_Dear Hermione, hoping this letter finds you in good health, and we are sure you are doing well in your studies, as always. Onto more important matters. _

_Your father and myself have been given the opportunity to organise and accompany a team of volunteer doctors going to work with underprivileged children in some third-world country. Most of those volunteering will be from our own medical practices; we shall be able to both aid in an humanitarian effort and raise the profile of your fathers business and my own charity organisation. This will enable us in turn to help more people. I'm sure a conscientious girl like yourself understands the importance of this work. The program will last a full year._

_An enquiry to your professors should help you discover if students are permitted to remain in attendance over Christmas, as most boarding schools allow such things there should be no problem; and I'm sure one of your friends will invite you to stay over the summer. _

_The house will be rented out to that wonderful family we met in America two years ago, the Burshaws. They are taking up residence for a year here in England. I'll leave all your personal arrangements up to you. We'll see you the year after next sometime, darling. Sincerely, your loving Mother and Father…"_

Ron's voice trailed off at the end; both boys looked rather shocked at the callous treatment of their friend.

Ron sighed. "You can't go home, and I'm dreading to go…"

"So stay with me this summer," Harry suggested absent-mindedly.

"What?" Hermione asked, just as Ron asked in puzzlement, "how's that?"

Harry smiled at them, re-focusing on his friends and their conversation. "I'll teach you to survive on the streets. Handy skill to have, really – "

Harry was cut off by the door to the girl's bathroom crashing open, a stench and an indignant roar invading their senses as they looked up… and up… _and up_…

"That's a mountain troll…" Ron whispered in confused horror.

They were in trouble.

* * *

(1) Page 101 Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.

(2) Info on Aconite found on _Wikipedia_ and _ botanical dot com._

(3) I am Australian, and any information in this story on the British school system comes from wikipedia [Education_in_England]. Sorry if it's inaccurate at all!

(4) In the books, either Charlie has left for at least a year at this point or he wasn't as brilliant a seeker as Harry, and Slytherin won the Quidditch cup resoundingly at least once. In this story, Charlie left only last year, and helped Gryffindor to victory more often than not, so Snape is desperate to win back the cup.

(5) Actually, Flint was cutting class. He was bored and watching out the window. What Severus Snape thought he was up to... well, thankfully I'm not in his brain.

(6) This is my idea as to why Snape would let Harry play, considering the extreme feelings of jealousy over Lily and an intense school rivalry he had with James Potter.

(7) Made up to mean 'Master of Transfiguration'.

(8) This I remembered, but I backed up my knowledge with Wikipedia! Searched for Cerberus on Wikipedia and it states: '_Cerberus__ or __Kerberos__, (Greek form: __Κέρβερος__) in Greek and Roman mythology, is a multi-headed hound (usually three-headed) which guards the gates of the Underworld, to prevent those who have crossed the river Styx from ever escaping. Cerberus featured in many works of ancient Greek and Roman literature and in works of both ancient and modern art and architecture, although, the depiction and background surrounding Cerberus often differed across various works by different authors of the era. The most notable difference is the number of its heads: Most sources describe or depict three heads; others show it with two or even just one; a smaller number of sources show a variable number, sometimes as many as 50_.' Had a cool picture to go with it too!

(9) Harry Potter Lexicon says this: '_Hellhound [rating unknown]: Muggle name for the sleepless three-headed dog who according to their mythology guards the gates of Hades. The dog's name was Cerberus, and the only time when he was ever overcome save by brute force was when the great musician Orpheus sang him to sleep. Hagrid had a huge three-headed dog which he called Fluffy, who now is reported to be living in the Forbidden Forest near Hogwarts_.' I just added a rating of my own, which is _XXXX – dangerous/requires specialist knowledge/skilled wizard may handle_ from page _xxii_ of _Fantastical Beasts & Where To Find Them_ by Newt Scamander. I have an old copy of Harry's…

(10) Bobby – the British nickname for a police officer.

**A/N:** ...so, I've had a few people complain about the interludes between each chapter, that they're not long enough etc, and though I do think about what my readers want in this story and their opinions, this is one thing I'm afraid isn't going to change. It helps me keep everything straight in my mind – especially as I don't want to contradict myself by writing something into the story that I've stated differently in the "back story", or history of the trio. Sorry if this upsets some people, but I do try to make sure my chapters are really long to make up for the interludes. They are interludes, by the way, not chapters in their own right, really. Hope this helps those who are disappointed by them. Usually they're posted right away after a chapter because I've written most of them already. I did try to put them in the story, but they're out of chronological order and didn't really gel with what I was writing, which is why there's a lot less of them in later chapters compared to, say, chapter one. Also, they'll probably get longer as the kids grow up as well. Anyway, now that I've waffled for long enough... hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and I look forward to hearing what you think!


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